


Ephemeral Time

by Mystical_Magician



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, M/M, Romance, Time Travel, World War II Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-18 19:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 62,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystical_Magician/pseuds/Mystical_Magician
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With nothing left to lose, Harry sends himself as far back into the past as his death will allow him. Tom Riddle is easy enough to take care of, but there are more threats than just the teenage Dark Lord.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood, Soul, and Magic

_Fly to a dream_   
_Far across the sea_   
_All the burdens gone_   
_Open the chest once more_   
_Dark chest of wonders_   
_Seen through the eyes_   
_Of the one with pure heart_   
_Once so long ago_   
_-“Dark Chest of Wonders,” Nightwish_

 

It was dark in the abandoned shack. Moonlight peaked through the cracks in the boarded up windows and rotting roof, providing barely enough light to see the ritual Harry had prepared. He didn’t dare risk lighting a candle, no matter how far inside an old wood he was. If Voldemort or his allies discovered him, all would be lost. 

Harry’s blood dripped down his arms, staining the warped floorboards as he carefully angled his wrists over the runes carved into the wood. He moved carefully, pushing aside lightheadedness resulting from blood loss. He almost didn’t care whether he succeeded or not; death was more than welcome at this point. Still, he persevered. The sacrifice of his friends, the people he considered his true family, would not be in vain. He _would_ find a way to defeat Voldemort.

Hermione and Luna had worked on this ritual for years before they had been killed. Harry didn’t doubt for an instant that it would work. They were both geniuses who approached the world in vastly different ways. When the two agreed on something, there was virtually no chance that they were wrong. 

His hand trembled as he drew his wand – the wand – no matter how he attempted to steady the motion. Holly and phoenix, no matter how it felt like an old friend, was not powerful enough for this. If he wanted to go back as far as possible, then only the Elder wand would do. 

How long had it been since Harry had become the master of the most well-known Deathly Hallow? His luck had been working overtime over the last half dozen years to keep the Elder wand in his possession, no matter how many skirmishes and ambushes he found himself in. He didn’t like his second wand, hated it even. It was more trouble than it was worth, but those few times he tried, he had been unable to destroy it. 

Harry carefully pointed the wand at himself, hands slick with blood. He mustered all the hatred, all the self-loathing he could. He had failed, had been unable to protect friends, family, classmates. Sirius, Professor Dumbledore, Remus, Tonks, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Fred and George, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Luna. The list went on and on – it was _all his fault_ – and his hatred of himself grew with each name until at last he growled, “Avada Kedavra.” 

A flash of green, and the body of Harry Potter slumped to the ground. The runes began glowing a rusty red, is if they had been branded into the wood. The shack began to creak and groan before abruptly collapsing in on itself, the backlash of the immense magical force causing it to implode. 

 

_Get ready. Take a breath. It’ll all be over soon._

He faded in and out of consciousness. Did he dream? Did he tumble through endless darkness for all eternity, live backwards through every day, hour, minute, second, that separated his time and this one? Did he simply blink and find himself in a place so like and yet unlike his exit point? 

When Harry gained full awareness he had no idea how long he had lain on the ground. His entire body ached, and he could hardly open his eyes, the weak sunlight was such torture to them. He shook with cold, his naked body exposed to the elements, but he had no strength to get up. He could die here. Harry was obviously far enough in the past that the shack hadn’t been built yet, and the woods had been chosen because no one would venture so far into them. 

Harry closed his eyes and relaxed, the only thing he could do for the moment. Hopefully the pain would lessen enough for him to begin moving around. He assumed it was the result of ripping his soul from his body and dragging both through time before abruptly combining once again. Hermione had said that the use of the soul increased the power exponentially. Luna had said the snorglacks were very attracted to the energy of a person’s heliancephs. 

Harry assumed they meant the same thing. 

God, but he was uncomfortably aware of his nudity. They had warned him that he would probably be unable to take anything with him, including the clothes he wore. It was necessary, but Harry really didn’t like it. How the hell was he supposed to steal a set of clothes without being seen? 

He tried to lift his head again. Perhaps it was his imagination, but Harry thought the pain had lessened slightly. 

Something caught his eye, something that lay next to his right hand. He focused on it, squinting because the sun still hurt and he was half blind without his glasses, and then let his head drop back to the ground with a curse. It was the Elder wand. 

On one hand, it would make things much easier for him until he could get to Ollivander’s. On the other, he had thought he was done with the stress of owning the legendary wand. But perhaps it would be all right. No one in this time knew he owned one of the Deathly Hallows, and no one would even think it was the second one in existence at this time. Perhaps his Invisibility Cloak could have made it with him, if he had thought of it. He felt a pang of regret when he realized that he would probably never see it again, much less own it. 

Harry shook off his melancholy. “Enough,” he said and painfully forced himself to his feet, using a nearby tree as leverage. He needed to know when he was, and he needed to prepare himself to do what it took to defeat Voldemort. A wave of his wand and he transfigured himself some clothes, a simple T-shirt and jeans. The shoes were a bit of a problem; he would have to purchase a pair as soon as possible but for now he would get by with what he had. 

“Tempus,” he murmured, and numbers twisted out of his wand to hover in the air. 12:45, 29 May 1944. 

Harry stared. He had hoped to be far enough back to save his parents. He hadn’t seriously thought that he would have the power to go back more than half a century, even if he (or Hermione, rather) had prepared for all eventualities in the Dark Lord’s lifetime. 

Which reminded him. Something about the date was jogging his memory. Something important. 

“Think, Harry,” he told himself. “Calm down and think about this.” May 1944. Tom Riddle. Slytherin. Seventh year, so Head Boy, not prefect. Special services to – 

“ _Shit_.” 

Myrtle had been killed the night of May 30th by the basilisk. 

There was no time to lose now. He needed to be prepared. It would be his best chance to take out Tom Riddle and expose him for the aspiring Dark Lord that he was, and he could prevent the murder of an innocent girl. Harry hoped he wouldn’t have to kill the other wizard. That would bring too much attention to his existence, and he hoped to avoid both the Ministry and Azkaban. 

“Okay,” Harry whispered. “Okay. First thing’s first.” He tapped his thigh with his wand, tracing elaborate shapes on his hip as he began murmuring incantations. This was another of Hermione’s spells she had created just for Harry, used to hide the Elder wand from all senses both magic and mundane. It was like a holster made completely of magic. If the people 60 years in the future couldn’t counter it, he doubted anyone in this time could. 

With that taken care of, Harry felt marginally better, more in control of his situation. It was time for him to leave. 

He doubted that it would be a good idea to travel the Muggle way. His education before Hogwarts had been limited, true, but he had not forgotten the major points of World War II in England. The people were bound to be frightened and suspicious, and he wouldn’t know how to act. Not to mention they might require some sort of paperwork, or something, and he didn’t even exist yet. He couldn’t very well Confund or Obliviate people in large crowds. 

Harry would have to risk apparating to a point he was fairly sure had remained more or less the same in the intervening years. Which, considering how the Wizarding World resisted change, shouldn’t actually be all that difficult. He was a little leery about traveling from the relatively safe northern Scotland to the middle of London. He didn’t want to be bombed, after all. 

Still, he assumed it would be relatively safe, considering it would be the middle of the day and he couldn’t recall anything about Diagon Alley being bombed from History of Magic. Granted he didn’t actually remember much from History of Magic, and what little he did was mainly to do with goblins (Binns was seriously obsessed). Harry figured he would probably be all right. 

He transfigured a pine cone into a robe, and it must have been due to either exhaustion or lack of concentration, because it was a ragged, uneven job. It was serviceable, though, and he had never much cared about appearance. 

He threw on the robe and then closed his eyes to picture the Leaky Cauldron. It had been there forever, hadn’t it? At least until it was destroyed in the Diagon Alley massacre that had killed most of the Weasleys. But he couldn’t dwell on the past…future…whatever. 

He spun on his heel and found himself facing a familiar brick wall. Harry needed to take a moment to remember how to open the entrance, it had been so long, but he remembered. A whisper from the past, from his first friend who had introduced him to the Wizarding World. 

_Welcome to Diagon Alley._

_You won’t be expelled Hagrid_ , he promised. _You will graduate and do whatever you want to do. I couldn’t save you, but I can do this much._

Harry set his face in a determined expression and stepped into the Alley. He needed a wand, shoes, and food, and to get all of that he needed money. He wouldn’t steal from the Muggles no matter how much easier that would be. They were in more dire straits than the British Wizarding World. 

He couldn’t access any accounts at Gringotts. The Potter family was alive, after all, and they would certainly notice if a stranger took anything from their vaults. He couldn’t steal from Gringotts, either. He had only gotten away with it before with a lot of help, even more luck, and probably the fact that he just wanted a cup. 

Harry didn’t want to take from just anyone, either. If he was forced to steal, he didn’t want to take it from someone who couldn’t afford it, and if at all possible he would prefer they had a rather Malfoy-esque attitude. At least he wouldn’t feel so guilty then. 

His gaze strayed toward Knockturn Alley. That place would probably have the type of person he was looking for. It would be more difficult, as that Alley drew thieves and people guarded against them. Still…. A _finite_ with the Elder wand would probably take care of any anti-theft charms. 

Harry surreptitiously made his way to the Knockturn Alley entrance, drew up his hood, and cast as powerful a Disillusionment Charm as he could manage. 

Half an hour later he was making his way to Ollivander’s with a small pouch of coins. He hadn’t had a chance to count his loot, but he suspected it wouldn’t last for more than a day or two. If he wasn’t dead by then, he would have to come up with some way to make money. 

The wand shop was just as dark and dusty as it had been when he had bought his first wand. This time, though, paranoid as Harry was, he noticed Ollivander before the man made himself known. Really, did the wizard gain no other joy in life than to scare his customers? 

“Hello,” said the man, staring unblinking at Harry. “I have never seen you in my shop before, though this is certainly not your first time looking for a wand.” 

“My wand was destroyed and so I need a new one,” Harry stated calmly. “It had a phoenix feather core, if that helps.” 

“You have the look of a Potter about you,” the wand-maker said as his measuring tape hovered in mid-air, and Harry felt his heart skip a beat. “What is your name?” 

He hadn’t thought about an alias, to be honest. But his first name was common enough. “Harry,” he said. 

“No last name?” Ollivander peered at him intently and Harry double-checked his Occlumency shields. 

“No,” he said firmly, relenting only enough to say, “I’m an orphan.” Let him make of that what he will. 

“Phoenix feather, you say,” the elderly wizard mumbled to himself as he began searching among his shelves, eventually returning with a large stack of boxes. “It may not remain the same, but it’s as good a starting point as any. Let’s try this one then. Oak and phoenix feather, 13 inches.” 

They went through half a dozen boxes before Harry saw it. His wand, holly and phoenix feather. He sighed without realizing as he reached for his wand. It greeted him like an old friend, showering him with golden sparks. 

“Oh, well done,” Ollivander said, looking satisfied. “That will be seven galleons.” 

Harry paid, liking this visit much better as the wand-maker made no comments about the import of the wand. Well, Voldemort was hardly a terrifying threat to the Wizarding World yet, and as well-known as Albus Dumbledore was, he had yet to gain the notoriety of defeating the feared Grindelwald. The circumstances surrounding this wand and its brother were not yet important. 

By the end of the day he gained a sturdy, comfortable pair of boots, a full meal (he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten his fill, never mind eaten real food), and enough food to survive for the next two days if he rationed carefully. A conjured tent and a blanket, and he had set up camp opposite of Hogsmeade from the castle, careful to stay out of sight. 

It had occurred to Harry that he could probably hide in the Room of Requirement, but he didn’t dare enter the castle until he needed to, in case his presence somehow threw off the timing of the events. 

He was so exhausted he fell almost immediately into a deep sleep as soon as the site had been warded, in spite of how early it was. For once the nightmares didn’t trouble him, and he woke late the next day, muzzy from the many hours spent asleep. He couldn’t exactly say he was well-rested, but he was no longer exhausted, either. Really, Harry felt better than he had in years. 

He lit a small, smokeless fire and toasted some bread while he pondered the situation. He wished there were more time to prepare. He wished Hermione were here to come up with something that would work. He wished any of his friends were here, really. Harry had been spoiled by his time in the Wizarding World. He could hardly stand to be alone anymore. 

“I can see them again. Eventually,” he told himself. If he lived that long. If nothing he did caused them not to be born. But they wouldn’t be _his_ friends. He would never have the same relationship with them, because he would be old by the time they came to Hogwarts. They would never suffer as his friends and family had, because he would protect them. He would take out Voldemort before Voldemort could destroy everything dear to him. 

He felt that familiar darkness wash over him and he tumbled down, down the rabbit hole, but there was no white rabbit or Wonderland, only smothering darkness, and he was alone, alone, alone. 

Harry gasped, shaking himself out of his depression, for the moment at least. Ron had kept him grounded, his first and last friend, his best mate, when all the others had been picked off one by one. But Ron was dead now, had been for weeks, and Harry was forced to keep going on his own, haunted by his own memories. He couldn’t exorcise the voices of his friends, and he didn’t want to. 

“Plan,” he told himself. As long as he concentrated on something he could forget the dead for a little while.


	2. Slytherin's Heir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should have mentioned last chapter that I slightly tweaked the timeline of events. Nothing too drastic, so you probably haven’t noticed.

_As long as I kept moving, my grief streamed out behind me like a swimmer’s long hair in water. I knew the weight was there but it didn’t touch me. Only when I stopped did the slick, dark stuff of it come floating around my face, catching my arms and throat till I began to drown. So I didn’t stop._   
_-Barbara Kingsolver, The Poisonwood Bible_

 

Harry waited until dinner neared its end, his body strung tight with nerves. He marveled over the castle, standing tall and proud and beautiful still, but it didn’t distract him. He had never liked waiting, and it was even worse knowing that this was his second chance, and he would likely never have another if he failed. He couldn’t fail. 

There was something wrong, though. He could feel it in his gut, and it was making waiting that much more difficult. 

Harry ran. 

Through empty halls, ignoring the portraits as he skidded around corners and bounded up stairs, heading unerringly toward what had once been known as Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. According to his hazy memories Myrtle hadn’t been killed until later in the night, but that sinking feeling wouldn’t go away, and it was better safe than sorry. 

“Accio, accio, _accio_ ,” he gasped, flicking his holly wand, picturing the Sorting Hat as vividly as possible. He didn’t really have a plan. Well, he had the bare bones of one, but he had always been a ‘fools rush in’ sort of person. His plan was only slightly more detailed than kill the basilisk and save Myrtle. If Hermione could see him right now, she was probably ready to kill him. 

As he approached the last corridor, he tapped his wand on each of his eyelids, murmuring the spell that would allow him to see in infrared when his eyes closed. He hoped his speed was not needed, but his heart sank as he paused outside the bathroom door. He could hear a voice remembered from his second year hissing, “Hungry…so hungry…. Let me kill….” 

He burst through into the room with a loud bang, eyes closed so as to discover where the basilisk was positioned. He did not want to accidentally meet those large yellow eyes. 

Judging by the heat emission, the basilisk had apparently just emerged from the pipes, as it was coiled around the entrance to the Chamber, head poised up near the ceiling. Tom Riddle stood at the creature’s side, and Harry opened his eyes once he was sure he was not about to look the basilisk in the eye. The teenage Dark Lord looked just as arrogant and cruel as he remembered. Strange to think of what this young wizard would grow into. 

“Who are you?” Riddle demanded, glaring at him furiously. He obviously did not appreciate being walked in on when in the middle of a nefarious plot. 

“Does it matter?” Harry replied, resisting the urge to look away. Knowing how deadly it was to look in the direction of the King of Snakes, it only made him want to look more. 

“I prefer to know the name of the person I’m about to kill,” he sneered. 

“Harry,” the man said warily. 

“Harry,” Tom repeated, and then spoke in Parseltongue. “ _Kill him_.” 

“ _Stop!_ ” Harry hissed. 

Both basilisk and Slytherin froze. 

“ _You are a speaker_ ,” said the basilisk, lowering its head to examine him. Harry carefully kept his eyes averted. He hoped to be able to talk it out of killing, but considering what it had said in his second year, he doubted it. He paid careful attention to where the basilisk was positioned, catching its heat signature every time he blinked. 

“ _I am_ , Harry replied. “ _Please, do not kill the students of this castle. It is wrong, and I am sure that was not your original purpose when Slytherin first built the Chamber_.” 

The basilisk reared back with an affronted hiss. “ _What do I care for right or wrong? You know nothing of my great and noble purpose. I am hungry, and my new master commands me_.” 

Tom, the time traveler noticed, looked impossibly smug. “ _You are a pathetic, mud-blood loving fool. You will die before you have a chance to tell anyone about this. Snake, kill him_.” 

Almost before he finished the order, Harry snapped his wand through the air and conjured a large, thick stone wall. It shuddered and cracked from the impact of the enormous snake as it struck, unable to arrest its momentum in time. It made a sound of pain, tail slithering over the floor in agitation. 

Harry quickly Disillusioned himself before pointing his wand at the conjured wall. He could hear his wall taking a beating as Riddle attempted to blast his way through. He jabbed his wand forward and used a spell learned from Ginny – who had herself learned it from the twins – to cause the stone to explode with a violent flash of light and roar of sound. The basilisk shrieked in alarm and Riddle gave a shout. 

Harry dove for the bathroom stalls, pausing only to carefully aim at the very back of the room. Something that sounded a lot like footsteps made itself known, punctuated by loud bursts of noise and rattling stone. It did the trick in catching the attention of his enemies, but it wouldn’t work for long, particularly since the snake could taste/smell him. 

He rolled into the stall two doors down, where he noticed Myrtle’s heat signature was coming from, quickly placing up Silencing wards so he could talk to her. 

He recognized her immediately, finding it strange to see her solid and in color. She was curled up in a fetal position, eyes closed tightly, face buried in her knees, tears running down her cheeks unchecked. Her hands gripped her dark hair so hard, Harry thought she might rip it out, and she rocked back and forth in terror. 

“Myrtle,” he said softly. 

She whimpered and refused to look up. 

“Myrtle,” Harry repeated, urgency creeping into his gentle tone. “It will be all right. I’ll keep you safe, but you need to pay attention. We don’t have much time.” 

“Who are you?” she whispered, uncurling slightly as she peeked at him. 

“My name is Harry, and I’m here to help you,” he said. “I need you to pay attention to what I’m going to tell you, can you do that?” 

She flinched violently at noise coming from outside of the stall, but nodded. 

“I’m going to run you to the door, all right? I’ll guide you, but what I’m about to say is very important. Do _not_ open your eyes unless I tell you to do so. If you look into the eyes of that creature out there it means instant death.” 

A strangled sob escaped the young witch at that, and Harry awkwardly patted her hand in comfort before helping her to her feet. 

“Once you get out of the bathroom, run. Run and don’t look back.” 

“Okay,” Myrtle whispered. 

Harry turned to face the back of the room, eyes closed. They were getting close to where he hid. Blocking out the curses and threats, he counted down. “3…2…1…Go!” He reduced the stall door to splinters and yanked the Hufflepuff with him. 

“Exero Morei!” 

The wizard felt the spell coming at his back and shoved Myrtle to the side. A dark purple light shot over his shoulder and melted a miniature crater into the wall. The basilisk was too close for comfort and Harry speedily conjured a rather flimsy barrier behind his back. The Transfiguration slowed it down just long enough for the rescuer and his charge to complete the seemingly endless sprint to the door. 

Harry threw it open and was nearly smacked in the face by the Sorting Hat. “Go!” he shouted, nearly tossing Myrtle out, and then slammed it shut again, sealing it with a spell. Before he could wear the Hat, he felt the enormous snake looming over him. He threw himself to the side, eyes closed, head turned toward the danger as he barely missed being eaten. Scrambling rather ungracefully to his feet and speedily shielding himself from a barrage of enemy fire, he jammed the Sorting Hat onto his head. 

_Hurryhurryhurryhurry_. His thoughts were a little panicked, and thankfully the Hat didn’t bother to comment. The sword hilt did seem to land a little harder on his head than he remembered, though. 

Harry sprinted away from the basilisk with the Hat in one hand and his wand in the other. He needed a little space and a way to take out the creature’s eyes before using Gryffindor’s sword. Hopefully it would hesitate the closer he drew to Riddle. It would be so much _simpler_ if they would just come at him one at a time. 

“It’s hopeless!” Riddle shouted in fury as Harry quickly blocked a jet of acid followed by a flurry of Dark curses. He bit back a cry as one of them burned through his left shoulder, the pain and injury keeping him from making full use of his arm. “You will not escape!” The Slytherin was growing more confident having finally hit the target. 

The smirk immediately slipped off his face when a powerful Banishing spell shattered his shield and sent him slamming to the floor. Harry was grudgingly impressed when Riddle nevertheless managed to block the stunner and petrificus as he blew past. 

Judging that he had enough room to breathe, he spun back around, eyes carefully closed and shouted, “Canviva.” A large sheet of canvas shot out, ends weighted and designed to wrap around whatever it touched. Canvas after canvas flew toward the surprisingly nimble basilisk. Harry was forced to stifle a laugh as one of them dealt a glancing blow on Riddle and immediately swept him off his feet and seemed to cocoon the heat source. Harry didn’t open his eyes to check, but the mental image was priceless. That would take care of that distraction for a little while. 

At last he managed to aim a shot directly in the giant snake’s face. It would blind it and, more importantly, keep Harry from meeting those large yellow eyes. 

He opened his eyes, and gazed upon the thrashing creature. It hissed curses at Harry and its tail struck clipped Riddle who was still struggling to free himself. Quickly, the war veteran thrust his hand into the Sorting Hat, desperately grasping and retrieving Gryffindor’s sword before carefully levitating the headwear into a safe, out of the way place. 

Harry took a deep breath, crouching slightly, legs shoulder-width apart and sword held in a sloppy ready position. He wasn’t any type of swordsmen and his injured shoulder hurt like hell, but he didn’t need to be a professional to point and stab. “ _You want me, come and get me_ ,” he hissed loudly. 

It struck, head crashing into the ground where he had been standing. Harry leaped desperately, and plunged the sword into the top of the basilisk’s head, buried to the hilt in flesh. With a piercing shriek the creature died instantly, but its body thrashed and convulsed. Harry clung to the sword as his body was whipped about in the basilisk’s death throes. Just when he thought he would make it, the sword slipped and spun off in one direction while Harry was flung in another. 

He soared through the air for one breathless moment before crashing into a mirror, slamming into the sink as he dropped to the floor. He gasped, his breath knocked out of him and his body feeling like one giant bruise. His back was likely slashed to ribbons, shattered glass stuck in his skin, but the pain from that hadn’t hit him yet. He supposed he was lucky not to have gone crashing through a window, or he would be dead. 

Riddle, Harry noticed through slitted eyes, had just extracted himself from his predicament and was approaching him slowly, wand twirling lazily in his fingers, fully confident he had the upper hand here. _Fucking wanker_ , he thought darkly, painfully pushing himself to his knees. Although he supposed that arrogance was in his favor, as the Head Boy could have easily disposed of him when he was completely helpless, stunned from the impact. 

“Well, well, well _Harry_. I must admit to being mildly impressed. You actually killed my basilisk. Oh, make no mistake that I am angry, but you have also succeeded in stirring my curiosity.” 

Harry tried to tune him out as he grasped the sink and leaned heavily on it, slowly managing to pull himself to his feet. 

“Perhaps, if you were to tell me a little about yourself, I might be persuaded to make your death quick and painless, as opposed to slow and painful.” 

“Merlin, but you love to hear yourself talk, don’t you?” Harry rasped. His legs shook slightly, but his wand was steady. 

The handsome features of the teen twisted into an ugly sneer. “Die!” he shouted. 

A sickly yellow spell streaked toward Harry, who managed to bat it aside at the last minute. The time traveler retaliated immediately, transfiguring the plentiful rubble into sharp knives and sending them flying at Riddle, where they were trapped by a block of wood, which was transfigured into a writhing mess of adders that he commanded to attack Harry. Rather than persuade the serpents to stop, Harry created an inferno of super-heated flames and blasted the snakes, both animal and human. Riddle shielded himself with a globe of water, where the elements collided with a hiss. Steam billowed through the bathroom, and the Slytherin pressed his advantage, shooting a barrage of extremely dangerous and painful spells at where Harry weakly stood, still leaning on the sink and unable to move quickly. Organ Crushing Hex. Decapitation Curse. Blood Boiling Hex. 

It was difficult to protect himself, but not impossible. Harry was surprised by the relative ease with which he defended himself and retaliated. The spells were not as powerful as he was used to, nor as varied. A thought struck him and he was almost cleaved in two during the distraction. He had been mentally prepared for the Voldemort of his time. The Voldemort who had 60 years of experience on him, and had been through dozens of Dark rituals. The Voldemort who had spent his life gathering power and arcane knowledge to himself. This person, while cruel, powerful, and knowledgeable for a 17-year-old was just that. A teenager. 

It wouldn’t do to get overconfident, of course. But still…. 

The doors crashed open at that moment, two figures bursting in upon the scene. 

Armando Dippet and Albus Dumbledore stopped dead, frozen in shock at the scene that greeted them. The bathroom was nearly destroyed, a _giant basilisk_ at least _60 feet long_ was lying _dead_ on the floor, and two wizards were dueling fiercely, neither having so much as looked up at the interruption. 

The Headmaster was stammering, mind blank from the surprise, but Albus didn’t hear him. His gaze was focused on the stranger, catching sight of his features in a mirror, dark hair and brilliant green eyes, and he found that for a long moment he couldn’t move. It was such an intensely visceral reaction, this feeling that the wizard so familiar to him, it left him almost breathless. 

Harry saw them out of the corner of his eye, recognizing both professors instantly, Dippet from his portrait and Dumbledore from extensive interaction. He kept one eye on them even as he and Riddle traded spells and insults. They switched easily, and seemingly randomly, between English and Parseltongue. 

“ _Imperio_ ,” Riddle hissed at last, becoming desperate now that two figures of authority were present. 

Harry let it hit him, grateful for the reprieve. He was able to resist so easily compared to the future version of Tom Riddle that it was almost laughable. 

_Surrender and tell them that you are at fault here_ , a thin voice in the back of his mind whispered. 

Harry made no move to obey, taking a moment to catch his breath. His shirt was sticking to his back, soaked with his blood, and his left shoulder screamed in pain. 

_Do it_ , the voice insisted. 

“Nice try, Riddle,” Harry spoke coolly. “But you definitely need more practice. You’ll be put away for a very long time and nothing is going to save you now.” 

The student let out a wordless scream of rage and attacked with spells that would definitely gain him time in Azkaban. 

“That is enough!” Headmaster Dippet bellowed, having somewhat recovered his equilibrium. 

Albus knew better than to attempt to render either of the two duelers harmless. If his timing was even slightly off, one of them would die, incapable of defending themselves. Perhaps if he interposed a shield in the middle. 

The spells struck his golden barrier with a loud ‘gong’ and held for a few moments, but it ultimately could not hold out against two such powerful wizards without using quite a bit more energy than Albus felt safe in giving. The Headmaster and his Deputy were forced to sit by and watch as spectators, unable to intervene without seriously risking lives. 

Albus knew, of course, who was more likely in the wrong. He had been suspicious of Tom Marvolo Riddle for a long time, and he could only be thankful to this unknown wizard for stopping whatever his student had planned. Still, he was highly curious and extremely interested in knowing who the stranger was and how he had come to enter Hogwarts at this time. And to be a Parselmouth. How rare and perhaps rather fortunate, considering the large, dead basilisk. 

“ _You think you’ll get away with this?! If I’m going down, I will take you with me_ ,” Riddle hissed furiously. Unlike his older and insane self, he did not get so caught up in his rage that he was unable to act logically. Still, he was a teenager with hormones and a short fuse. 

_Ugh_ , Harry thought to himself absently. _Voldemort with hormones_. 

“ _You’re done, Voldemort. You are lord of nothing and cower at the thought of death_ ,” Harry said calmly. 

That was too much for his enemy to take. “Crucio!” 

There wasn’t time to conjure something to block the Unforgivable. It struck with less force than Harry was used to, but it was still painful. He partially collapsed, slumped over the sink as his limbs twitched and he moaned with pain. He hadn’t retained his complete immunity to the Cruciatus Curse after the Battle of Hogwarts for whatever reason, but it still affected him to a lesser degree than any other person. 

“ _Stupefy!_ ” two voices bellowed, Armando and Albus reacting automatically. Riddle was forced to break the curse to scramble out of the way and shield himself. Albus was almost shaking with rage at the Slytherin’s actions. 

As Harry painfully straightened up, Tom looked around, dark green eyes wild. There was no escaping the consequences now. But he _would_ have his revenge before they took him away. The sword that had killed his basilisk lay on the ground, hidden from the others by the rubble. He banished it blade first at the weak wizard. 

Harry watched Gryffindor’s sword fly true, aimed at his torso. Perhaps it was for the best, he thought, and didn’t move. Everyone he loved was dead, and his purpose was fulfilled. He didn’t know much about Dippet, but Dumbledore would see to it that justice was done. He calmly met Riddle’s gaze, watched those features twist into hatred. 

The teen understood. He would not win because Harry accepted death, welcomed it even. Killing him was not a victory, it was merely an extension of his failure.

Time seemed to slow for Albus. The blade inched ever closer to the mystery wizard, who did nothing to dodge. Albus could tell immediately, instinctually, that he would let the sword hit him. He was ready – no, willing – to die. 

His heart skipped a beat and he moved faster than ever to summon the young man. 

Harry gasped as he was yanked off his feet mere seconds before the sword would have killed him. Instead it bit deeply into his side, blood bursting forth and staining the floor as he slammed into Albus Dumbledore. The glass still protruding from his back dug into his skin, and shooting pains caused him to arch, mouth open in a silent scream, before slumping at last unconscious in the professor’s arms. 

Armando, meanwhile had knocked-out, bound, and stunned Tom Riddle. 

“I’ll take him to the Infirmary, if you don’t need my assistance,” Albus said, eyeing the injured young man anxiously. 

The Headmaster’s mouth twisted up in a wry half-smile. “I can handle a stunned teenage wizard, Albus. Go.” 

He nodded and hurried away, gently bearing Harry to the Hospital Wing.


	3. Strength to Continue

_Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!_   
_-Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass_

 

It felt as though he was suspended in the limbo between sleep and awake, as if floating motionless underwater. His thoughts were slow and came to him from far away, struggling through molasses. That was the potions, he realized fuzzily. He had been in this situation often enough. They had probably pumped quite a few into him, considering the condition he had been in. 

Harry struggled to open his eyes, but was unable. He tried to twitch a finger, to make some sound of awareness, but couldn’t. 

Someone was there with him. Madam Pomphrey? No. He ought to feel worried, threatened, but he couldn’t bring himself to. 

And then he heard a trilling melody of unearthly beauty and his worries faded away. Fawkes. He would have sighed if he could. It had been so long since he had last seen the phoenix, and he had missed him. Awareness slipped away and he fell into a healing sleep as he listened to Fawkes’ song. 

When Harry awoke fully, he remembered very little of his potion-induced sleep. He recognized the room immediately, having been there often enough in the past. Future. Something. 

It wasn’t his usual bed, but the arrangement of cots was slightly different, anyway. Apparently fifty years did make a difference. 

A glance at the windows showed that it was night, although Harry hadn’t the faintest idea how long he had been unconscious. It didn’t matter. He could find out later, but right now he had to get out, get away. He could feel the memories rising, and all of the gut-wrenching emotions that came with it. The white walls painted red with blood, the bodies of the dead. Madam Pomphrey, who had cared for him and healed him ever since he first set foot in Hogwarts, decapitated as she gave her life to protect her patients. 

Harry closed his eyes and fought down a wave of nausea or tears, he didn’t know which. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t. 

Slowly he pushed himself into a sitting position. His body ached, but the pain was hardly crippling. His torso was wrapped in white bandages, which was a good sign as he didn’t seem to be bleeding through the cloth. Harry poked his side experimentally, where he had been stabbed, but the area was completely numb. 

Ignoring his protesting body, Harry carefully swung his feet over the side of the bed. He wondered what had happened to his clothes. They were beyond saving, certainly, but had they reverted to their original form? Had anyone recognized them as Transfigured objects? He hoped not. But hadn’t Professor Dumbledore been a Transfiguration Master? 

It wasn’t important. Surreptitiously, his heart automatically in his throat, he touched his thigh where the Elder wand was hidden. As the caster of the spell, he should be the only one able to sense it, and it was still there. He breathed a soundless sigh of relief. Whenever he was knocked unconscious, he could never relax until he was sure the wand hadn’t fallen into the wrong hands. 

Next he would have to find his primary wand, which might prove to be a bit diffi – 

It sat on the bedside table. 

Harry stared for a long moment. They were in the middle of a war, even if most of it was being fought on the Continent. Why on earth would they leave a potentially dangerous stranger with his wand? If this were his own time he would certainly suspect some sort of trap. But perhaps they really were that trusting here? 

Unless Fawkes had something to do with this. Hadn’t Fawkes been here earlier? Harry couldn’t quite remember, but he thought so. 

In that case, he needn’t be quite so suspicious. 

He sighed at the feeling of warmth at his fingertips when he picked up his wand. Carefully picturing a set of clothes similar to his last ones, he Transfigured his hospital gown. He was too tired to worry about his shoes at the moment, no matter how cold the stone floor was. He would summon them some other time. 

Harry leaned heavily on his bed as he made to stand up. His legs were shaky and weak, but it took only a few minutes before he could walk under his own power. He flicked his wand in several complicated patterns, searching and identifying…nothing. 

Then he realized, of course, Madam Pomphrey didn’t work here yet, and even if she did, she didn’t know of his habit of escaping the Hospital Wing before she released him. There would be no multitude of wards to prevent his leaving. 

Harry almost laughed. He could just walk out the door. 

It took longer than he liked to cross the room to the Infirmary doors, but he didn’t dare push his weak body too hard. If he was caught they would probably magic him to his bed, and that wouldn’t do at all. Ideally, he would be able to leave with no one the wiser to who he was or where he had come from. 

Merlin, he was barely in his twenties and he felt as if he was one hundred. 

Slowly and silently, so as not to wake any of the portraits, the slim wizard crept out the door and shut it gently behind him. He turned and walked right into a warm, solid body. A hand shot out and grasped his elbow, steadying him before he could tumble to the ground, and he looked up.

It was Albus Dumbledore. 

Harry’s wand had automatically, if surreptitiously, been aimed at the person before he even looked to see who it was. He almost regretted that instinct, as he was certain the professor would notice and make note of it in his mind. It would surely increase whatever suspicions he had. 

“How did you – ,” Harry began quietly, wondering how he had known he was attempting to escape, when he noticed Fawkes was perched on Dumbledore’s shoulder. Harry narrowed his eyes at the bird. “Traitor,” he murmured. 

Fawkes preened. The time traveler was sure that he was mocking him, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything other than annoyed affection. He had missed the phoenix more than he realized. 

“I see you have met Fawkes,” Albus commented, an amused glimmer in his bright blue eyes. 

Harry suppressed a flinch, and remained silent. What on earth should he say? 

“My name is Albus Dumbledore,” the Deputy Headmaster continued after a long moment. 

“Harry, professor,” he said. “Just Harry.” 

“Then you must call me Albus,” the other wizard replied with a kind smile. 

Albus. Even in his own head, it seemed strange to Harry to call him that. A thought struck him. “How long have I been out? And what about Riddle?” he asked, not noticing how he gripped the sleeve of the other man’s robe in his sudden worry. “What happened with him?” 

“It’s all right. You’ve been unconscious for three days. Armando sent for the Aurors and Tom Riddle was apprehended. His trial was yesterday and he was sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban, for his use of two Unforgivables, and his intentions regarding the basilisk.” 

“And my name wasn’t mentioned?” he persisted, thoughts of once again becoming the bloody savior of the Wizarding World haunting him. 

“As we did not know your name, you were simply remarked upon as an unknown wizard,” the other replied. “We are trying not to let the actual events get out to the general public for fear of causing a panic.”

Harry released the robe sleeve with sigh and all the tension drained from his body in his relief. Albus quickly caught his elbow again before he could collapse. 

“You are far from well yet, Harry. Let me help you back into the Hospital Wing,” he offered. 

“ _No_ ,” Harry protested forcefully, eyes wild at the thought of reentering that room. “No, I’m fine. I’ve had worse; I can’t go back in there. I’ll just be on my way and no one will need to worry about me any longer.” 

“Calm down. Relax, Harry,” Albus said soothingly, concerned by his violent reaction. “You needn’t go back into the Infirmary. But I cannot in good conscience allow you to wander off when you’re injured.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Harry replied automatically. He stumbled slightly as he tried to make his way in the general direction of the Entrance Hall, but the older wizard stopped him before he could go very far. 

“Do you have a place to stay?” he asked, peering intently into Harry’s emerald green eyes. 

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Albus Dumbledore could read the truth of the matter without words. 

Harry gazed unseeingly down the dark and empty hall. Obviously Dumbledore had noticed his Transfigured clothes and come to the right conclusion. His conjured tent and blankets were gone by now, and he couldn’t quite remember what he had done with the leftover food. The last of his money had gone into purchasing a wand holster, and he certainly didn’t have the energy to acquire funds, through honest work or no. He had no papers, no O.W.L. or N.E.W.T. scores. The Shrieking Shack either hadn’t been built yet or was being used. The Black family inhabited Grimmauld Place, the Weasleys wouldn’t have the faintest idea who he was and certainly wouldn’t be inclined to house him. He didn’t even have a cupboard to call his own. 

He had shown the world the true face of Tom Riddle. The aspiring Dark Lord would be safely imprisoned in Azkaban if he hadn’t been already. What was left for him here and now? 

“Come,” Albus said abruptly, jolting Harry from his reverie. He had seen the emotions clearly in the young man’s face, and he didn’t like the despair and helplessness he saw there. “You will stay in my quarters, and I will leave a note with Madam Basset so that she will not panic when she finds you are no longer in your bed.” 

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Harry said hesitantly, though his heart leaped at the offer, even if it only lasted for a few days. 

“Nonsense,” Dumbledore said briskly, in a way that put him in mind of Professor McGonagall. “I would not have offered if I did not want you to join me. Otherwise I would need to return you to the Hospital Wing and spell you into a bed, which I don’t think you would like at all.” 

Harry shuddered involuntarily. He would go mad if the professor did that. 

“Thank you,” he said. “I do appreciate this.” 

“It’s no trouble at all,” Albus replied. “Can you walk?” 

He was favored with an indignant look, which quickly transformed into frustration when the young man was forced to lean heavily upon Albus’ supporting arm. Harry bit his lip, determined not to give up. Albus couldn’t help but admire his sheer stubbornness, even as he recognized that the trait wasn’t always a good thing. He had the feeling that Harry _would_ irritate his wounds just to keep from appearing weak or incompetent. There was no need, in Albus’ opinion. Anyone who could kill a centuries old basilisk and defeat an aspiring Dark Lord at the same time was anything but weak or incompetent. 

Which brought him back to how Harry had known to arrive when he did in the first place. The lack of a last name and the obvious desire to fade away into the background piqued his curiosity. Harry was a puzzle, and Albus had always loved puzzles. 

“You are going to aggravate your injuries,” he said, pausing in the middle of the corridor. 

“I’m fine,” Harry said automatically. 

“I think it would be better if I were to carry you,” Albus said, and in a smooth movement gently lifted the smaller wizard into his arms. 

“Wha – Albus,” Harry hissed, barely remembering to use his former mentor’s first name, body tense in discomfort. 

“Am I hurting you?” he questioned, brow furrowed in concern. “I can levitate you, if you prefer.” 

“No, it’s not that,” Harry reassured him, and forced himself to relax. He hated the helpless feeling of levitation, the fact that he was at the mercy of someone else. It was actually sort of nice, he thought distantly, being carried. It felt like there was still someone who cared for him. “I just wouldn’t want to…er…be a burden.” 

“I’ve already carried you once; I don’t think a second time will be a problem. You’re nothing but skin and bones, anyway.” 

“You’ve…carried me?” Harry repeated with a frown. 

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t remember.” Albus looked somewhat melancholy. “You were unconscious, after all.” 

Harry searched his memory. “You summoned me,” he said slowly. “I forgot about that. Oh, I must have ruined your robes. There was blood everywhere, I think. I’m sorry. I’ll find a way to replace them.” 

Albus stumbled, missing a step as he stared down at his self-appointed charge in shock. “The robes?” he exclaimed, voice sounding louder than usual in the silence. “My dear man, I was far more worried about you!” 

Harry flushed red enough to do a Weasley proud. “Oh,” he said in a small voice. “But still…” He trailed off. He didn’t know what to say to that. 

The silence continued, but it was a comfortable silence. Harry tentatively allowed his head to rest on Albus’ shoulder and closed his eyes. However long he had remained unconscious in the Infirmary, he was still tired. What time was it? It seemed to be the early hours of the morning, but Harry drifted off to sleep before he could ask. 

 

When Harry woke again he found himself in an unfamiliar bed. The mattress was far softer than anything he had slept on in years. The sheets and bed hangings were of a burgundy color, and the smell of chocolate lingered vaguely in the air. He sighed, and burrowed deeper under the covers. He didn’t remember the last time he had felt so relaxed. 

His stomach growled and he gave up on sleep in favor of finding food. Until he had arrived in this time period, he couldn’t remember the last time he had had a decent meal either. Besides, he didn’t feel nearly as weak as he had when he escaped the Hospital Wing. He must be nearly healed. 

Harry looked around the bedroom, guessing by the knickknacks and the phoenix perch in the corner that this was Pro – er, Albus’ bedroom. He was tempted to linger, his abundant curiosity wanting to examine more closely what his future Headmaster’s rooms looked like. But Harry respected his privacy more than he was curious, and he was hungry anyway. Cautiously, he opened the door and peered out into what appeared to be the living room. 

Albus looked up from where he sat at the desk in the corner grading papers, and brightened at the sight of him. “Ah, good afternoon, Harry. I was wondering when you would wake.” 

“I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled, suddenly unable to look at the other wizard. “I didn’t mean to kick you out of your bed.” 

Albus waved a hand dismissively and approached the dining room table, motioning for him to join. “It was no problem. My talent lies in Transfiguration, you know, so I was quite comfortable. Would you like some food?” 

Harry’s stomach chose that moment to growl, and he fought back a blush. “Yes, please.” 

A large bowl of broth and several slices of bread appeared before Harry. Apparently the house elves had been appraised of his situation. 

“Madam Basset was quite put out with you,” Albus commented as he watched his guest eat. “And with me for going along with your wishes.” 

Harry grinned slightly. “I seem to have that effect on nurses. Madam P – er, my former medi-witch started warding my bed and the doors to keep me from escaping when her back was turned.” His smile slipped of his face completely as he remembered her fate, and he shook his head to rid himself of the image. 

Albus’ eyes twinkled faintly. 

“Has Riddle already been transferred to Azkaban?” the time-traveling wizard asked in a would-be casual tone, concentrating on his food. He wouldn’t be comfortable until Voldemort’s younger self was safely locked away. 

“He is scheduled to be escorted there tonight,” Dumbledore replied. He didn’t miss the slightly calculating look in the young wizard’s green eyes. “You have not yet asked about your profit from the killing and harvesting of the basilisk.” 

Harry stared at him blankly. “What?” 

He looked startled. “Surely you knew that basilisk parts are among the most expensive and sought after potions ingredients.” 

“Oh. But….” Harry barely refrained from remarking that last time nothing of the sort had been done. He wondered why the Headmaster had just let the basilisk rot in the Chamber, and assumed it had something to do with not wanting to bring attention to the danger in Hogwarts. 

“We won’t be selling the parts all at once,” Albus continued when Harry made no further move to speak. “We wouldn’t want to flood the market, and considering this particular clime we felt it best to sell only a fraction at first. The profits will be split 50-50 between you and the school.” 

Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair. “At least I won’t need to be too concerned about money right now,” he murmured with relief. He would have to see how much he received from the first sale before making any plans. He might need to save up quite a bit for a house or apartment, and he still hadn’t figured out how he was going to gain a steady job. He might just have to sit in one the N.E.W.T.s one year and hope they didn’t require a birth certificate or something. In fact, sitting the N.E.W.T.s would be a new experience. He hadn’t been able to do so with Voldemort controlling the Ministry. 

Albus hovered – there was no other word for it – as Harry wandered the room before returning to bed. He suspected a potion had been in the broth, as he felt surprisingly good. 

With one last concerned glance, Albus left to teach his late afternoon class. When he returned to his quarters, he wasn’t entirely surprised to find that Harry had gone. He only hoped that he would return once Tom reached Azkaban.


	4. Home at Last

_Who's there knocking at my window?_   
_The owl and the Dead Boy…_

_…I tread the way and lose myself into a tale…_

_…Come hell or high water_   
_My search will go on…_

_…A nightingale in a golden cage_   
_That's me locked inside reality's maze_   
_Come someone make my heavy heart light_   
_Come undone, bring me back to life_   
_It all starts with a lullaby_   
_-Nightwish, Dark Passion Play, “The Escapist”_

 

Harry hovered above the steel grey water on the borrowed school broom. Even in the summer the area surrounding Azkaban prison was stormy and near freezing. He had been waiting for hours, and though the judicious use of warming charms had cured his physical chill, it did little about the despair generated by the dementors. And Harry carried quite a bit of despair in his soul. He wished he had thought to stop by the kitchens and beg some chocolate from the house elves before leaving Hogwarts. 

At least he hadn’t been waiting for nothing. Albus had only given him a very general time, and he could have missed the appearance of Riddle and the Auror escort. As it was, he followed the boat carefully from the air, wishing more than ever for the cover of his Invisibility Cloak. The clouds did a decent enough job of hiding him from view, but the cold and damp almost wasn’t worth it. He’d had to put an Impervius charm on his glasses, swallowing around a lump in his throat as he remembered Hermione teaching it to him, with her frizzy brown hair and no-nonsense tone of voice. Practical to a fault and a genius besides, that was their ‘Mione. 

Harry blinked, and redoubled his focus on trailing the boat. He couldn’t afford to be distracted now. He could mourn later. 

It struck him then that he really didn’t know what the hell he was going to do. He wanted to make sure that Riddle made it to his cell. He wanted to make sure that he stayed there. That if he were ever to break out, Harry would know. There would be no Ministry cover-ups. There would be no substitutions, so that no one would ever know of the danger, as there had been with Barty Crouch Jr. If Harry could follow them to the cell, there would be no problem, but he couldn’t follow them as a human, invisible or not. He would need to stick too close to the group, in order to be shielded by their Patroni. Going in as an animal would be better, but he had never learned how to become an Animagus. It was a time-consuming art, and Harry and his friends had never had the time. 

Perhaps, he plotted quickly, temporary measures would do until he did learn to be an Animagus. Dementors were the main prison guards, after all. He could easily avoid any wizards who would think it strange to see an animal wandering Azkaban. The wards would be easy enough to slip through. True, he had much more practice completely destroying wards than slipping through them, but it shouldn’t be too difficult. He thanked Merlin for Tonks and Kingsley’s information on Azkaban wards. It was turning out to be much more helpful than any of them suspected. And in the end he could subtly ward Riddle’s cell until escape was near impossible.

Meanwhile, Harry would focus on gaining his Animagus form as quickly as possible. 

But what if… What if Tom escaped? What if he evaded Harry and Harry didn’t find out until months, even a year later? It would be too late. History would replay itself all over again. Cedric, confusion etched permanently on his face by a flash of green light. Sirius, taunting glee only beginning to change to surprise, and then gone in an instant. Professor Dumbledore, flying spread-eagled from the lightning-struck tower. 

_“No! Neville! NEVILLE! Go back, we have to save him!”_

_“It’s too late, Harry.” Hermione sobbing heartbreakingly. “It’s too late. If we go back we’ll all be dead. It’ll all be for nothing.”_

_Luna, staked to a tree, tortured, gutted, clothes torn from her body, dreamy eyes glassy in death._

_“No, not Harry, not Harry, take me. Please, have mercy. Haaarrryyy!!!”_

This last memory, the familiar sound of his mother’s screams, jolted Harry from his reverie just in time to keep him from falling off the broom. He quickly strengthened his Occlumency shields, berating himself for not paying attention to how close he was coming to the dementor-infested isle. That was stupid of him. 

He scrubbed roughly at his watery eyes, certain that they were red by now, but as he was Disillusioned, he supposed it didn’t matter. The boat was beginning to dock, so Harry quickly dove down and settled himself between the wizards and the prison. 

The aura of despair pressed down against him, until it took all of his concentration to remember what he had come here to do. Screams rang in his mind, bloody images flashing in his distracted moments. Occlumency couldn’t do all that much against dementors. 

Harry bit his lip until it bled and welcomed the pain. It forced him to concentrate, to push those memories back. It grew easier the closer the Aurors came, their procession guarded by two Patroni, a bird and a dog. 

He had a moment of panic when he glimpsed Tom’s pale, haughty expression. What if it wasn’t him? What if it was polyjuice or a powerful glamour? 

Harry sent out a tendril of Legilimency, slipping into the prisoner’s mind. The teen’s Occlumency shields were impressive, he acknowledged, but they were patchy due to the dementors. A quick glance confirmed that this was indeed Tom Marvolo Riddle. 

Harry’s wand flicked out as soon as the group passed by, their backs to him, a tracking spell based on one of the twins’ projects attaching itself to Riddle’s magic. He could tell the Aurors were uneasy. Perhaps they were skilled enough to sense that something was out of place, or maybe it was just Azkaban getting to them. It didn’t matter, so long as he wasn’t caught. He waited until they entered the building before leaving, only too happy to be away from this miserable place. 

Harry briefly considered simply disappearing, never returning to Hogwarts, remaining away from Albus Dumbledore’s too piercing eyes. He might have even followed through if he hadn’t had the school broom on him. He wasn’t about to steal from Hogwarts. And besides, where better to learn how to become an Animagus than under a discrete Transfiguration Master?

He didn’t dare apparate so close to the island in case they could discover the trail. They would definitely become suspicious of any wizard getting too near the prison, after all, and he didn’t want them to trace him. Harry couldn’t afford that kind of attention. 

It took him half an hour to reach the mainland, and another half an hour of flying before he felt safe enough to apparate. Moody would be proud of his paranoia, he thought wryly. Meanwhile, he tried to convince himself that Riddle would not break out. He didn’t have anywhere near the resources or power he had gained in later years, and as far as Harry could tell, he was still affected by the dementors. Tom may have had a loyal group of followers, but they were still just children themselves. Few if any of them were head of their family, and he doubted they would remain loyal after this. Riddle’s reign of terror had failed before it had really begun. None of them would want to risk ending up the way their leader had. 

By the time Harry appeared at the edge of the Hogwarts wards, broom in hand, it was quite late. He winced as the gash in his side twinged, and when his hand touched the bandage he realized that he had bled through. That was probably not a good sign of his health. 

He had no idea how long stared blankly at the broom as exhaustion dragged at his limbs. He didn’t know how he’d have reached the castle without it. Had the thestrals been tamed before Hagrid or by Hagrid? And how would he have summoned one in any case? He supposed he could have just sat bleeding in the Forbidden Forest and waited for one to come to him, but even in his muddled state of mind that sounded like a really stupid idea. 

It was a moot point in any case. Harry shook himself from his reverie and slowly mounted the broom. He had been a little frustrated with its speed and maneuverability in the beginning – it was an ancient piece of crap in his point of view – but right now he could care less. He just wanted to sleep. 

Harry managed to return the broom to the broom shed before heading towards the castle, stumbling several times over the uneven ground. He struggled to open the doors and had an even more difficult time closing them again. He made it only a few feet leaning heavily against the wall before his legs gave out on him. The injured wizard slid down the wall and lay sprawled on the stone floor, head lolling to the side. 

The hall faded slightly in and out as he struggled to pull himself together. Harry wasn’t sure whether to hope someone found him or not. If it was anyone, he hoped it would be Albus, but that wasn’t likely. Although he wouldn’t mind too much if a house elf found him. Unless it insisted on taking him to the Infirmary. Then he would mind. 

Harry looked down and noticed with some surprise that he was trembling. Then he realized that he had broken out in a cold sweat and mentally cursed his body. Azkaban had really done a number on him. He had a feeling that once Albus saw his condition he wouldn’t be let out of bed for weeks. Perhaps a sticking charm would be involved. 

So involved was the time-traveler in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the approaching footsteps. He was, therefore, startled when someone knelt down in front of him and spoke to him with a concerned expression on his face. 

“What happened here, son?”

Harry squinted, and managed to bring Armando Dippet into focus. 

“You are Harry, yes?” 

Harry nodded. The Headmaster looked really worried, but he wasn’t really in any shape to reassure him. 

“You’re in bad shape, Harry. You need to get to the Hospital Wing immediately.”

The younger wizard stiffened. “No Madame Pomfrey,” he slurred, having trouble speaking clearly through his exhaustion. 

Dippet looked confused. “There are no Pomfreys at this school. Now, let’s get you to the Hospital Wing.” He pulled out his wand to transport the injured man. 

Harry was confused for a moment, before recalling that, of course, Madame Pomfrey wasn’t the Hogwarts medi-witch yet. He focused his bright green eyes on the wizard before him. “No. Hospital. Wing,” he said, struggling to enunciate clearly. 

Something in his tone or expression must have given pause, for Headmaster Dippet rocked back on his heels and considered him for a long moment before nodding. “Where to, then?” 

“Albus,” he murmured, darkness hovering at the edges of his vision. He could trust Dumbledore. Dumbledore would help him. 

Harry felt the weightlessness of the levitation spell, that hateful feeling as though he were a marionette on a string, before allowing the darkness to overcome him. 

 

There was an unfamiliar person speaking when he woke. Out of habit Harry pretended he was still asleep, carefully regulating his breathing and not allowing his body to tense. The voice was that of a rather shrill female. She did sound upset. 

“– and I still don’t see why he cannot be monitored in the Hospital Wing!” 

Harry withheld a wince. This was obviously Madame Basset. Why were all medi-witches who treated him so overbearing in their concern? Did he bring out those hidden overprotective maternal instincts, or something? 

He could hear her retreating footsteps, and cautiously peeked to make sure she was really leaving. The nurse was an old woman, short and round with wispy white hair drawn back in a bun. Hands on hips, she was furiously discussing something in the doorway with Albus. Their tones were too low for Harry to hear, but he suspected they were talking about him. 

Firelight from the sitting room spilled into the bedroom, illuminating Albus’ auburn hair as it fell in soft waves to just below his shoulder. His beard was cut short, neatly trimmed near his chin. The half-moon spectacles were only needed for reading, so he was without them for now. 

He looked much different from his future self. His shorter hair was only lightly streaked with silver. Harry had always wondered why Dumbledore had chosen to let his hair grow out to such a length. It was impressive and reminded him of pictures of Merlin from a few Muggle fantasy books, but it must be rather inconvenient at times. 

It was more than the physical features that set him apart from his future self, however. He almost seemed to be more relaxed. This was before his widespread fame, Harry realized. Before the defeat of Grindelwald, before being named the greatest wizard of the age, before the reputation for omniscience and the barmy mask. He wasn’t Chief Warlock, or Supreme something-or-other, or any other of his numerous titles. He wasn’t Headmaster Dumbledore. 

He was Albus. 

Without realizing it, Harry’s lips curled into a half smile, before he shivered with the chill that had seeped into his soul. He was rather surprised by the subtle feeling of contentment, given how sensitive he was to dementors after such regular exposure to them for years. If there had been any other way he would not have gone anywhere near Azkaban. 

Albus seemed to have noticed something, as his gaze flicked briefly over Madame Basset’s shoulder to meet his watchful stare. His eyes widened slightly in surprise, and then he winked, returning his attention to the witch before she noticed his distraction. 

Curiosity satisfied for the moment, Harry closed his eyes and waited. Eventually the voices faded into the distance, Albus returning only moments later. 

“You have been causing an uproar with Cordelia,” he said with a smile. “Madame Basset,” he added at Harry’s blank look. 

“I shall try to avoid her wrath in the future,” the younger wizard said dryly. “Although I’ve never had much luck with medi-witches. Multiple visits to the Hospital Wing during the school year.” 

“Is that why you dislike the Hospital Wing so?” Albus inquired gently. 

Harry’s gaze slid away. “Hmmm,” he murmured, obviously unwilling to speak further. 

“You certainly had Armando worried,” the professor continued, changing the subject. “He hadn’t realized you were up to begin with, and then he stumbled over you in the Entrance Hall.” He tilted his head slightly to the side as he waited for a reply. 

“I needed air,” Harry said at last. “I guess I’m not used to being confined to bed.” 

“Indeed,” Albus said thoughtfully, watching with a faint frown as Harry’s body was suddenly and briefly wracked with shivers. He broke off a piece of what was in his hand and gave it to Harry with the command, “eat.”

Harry struggled upright with the help of Albus and made a face at the chocolate he had been given. He had eaten far too much of the stuff in the past several years, until he had begun to equate it with dementors. It touched his lips before he realized the implications. 

He froze, staring wide-eyed at his serene companion. 

“Why chocolate before any of the potions?” he whispered, knowing that Albus knew, but hoping he was wrong. 

“You are still suffering from the presence of dementors,” Albus responded. “It was not so difficult to guess where you had disappeared to. Now eat. You’re pale and shivering. Cordelia did not recognize the symptoms, not that I can blame her. Dementors are rare to come across, and I don’t think she’s ever treated a victim of their presence.” 

Harry obeyed thoughtlessly, accepting the next pieces when he finished the first. It helped banish the lingering effects of those foul creatures, he couldn’t deny that. 

“You had quite a setback,” the elder wizard commented as Harry ate. “Cordelia managed to discover that your health was failing even before you received your injuries. Your immune system is weak enough that you’ll need to be completely healed before leaving bed, or your body may never fully recover.” 

That was what happened, Harry supposed, when you spent years on the run with never enough food and even less sleep, poor or hasty healing of cursed injuries coupled with bouts of depression as those closest to him were picked off one by one. It had been hard on him, physically and mentally. 

“I’m sorry for stealing your bed again,” Harry said softly as he leaned back against the pillows. 

“Just get well,” Albus replied. “That is all I ask.” 

He closed his eyes, ready to sleep, but the other’s voice stopped him. 

“You have a potion to take.” 

“Just one?” Harry asked with gentle incredulity. 

“Madame Basset believed that you would be unconscious until tomorrow at least, and simply spelled her apothecary into your stomach,” Albus said with a chuckle. 

The time-traveler made a face, and reached out for the vial. “Dreamless Sleep?” he commented, eyeing the potion. 

Albus nodded. 

Harry debated with himself for a moment. He had never been fond of sleep potions, always afraid that some enemy would come upon him when he was unable to wake up and defend himself. But he couldn’t deny that he needed it. His sleep was constantly interrupted, as the dark circles under his eyes could attest to. Just this once, maybe. Albus was here, and the war was being fought far from Hogwarts. He would pay for it later, he knew. The nightmares would be back worse than usual after being suppressed. But it might be worth it for a full night’s sleep. 

He drank the potion and returned the vial to Albus as he slid into a lying position. “It woulda bin better ‘f I coulda summ’ned m’Patronus,” he mumbled, only half conscious. He didn’t know why he felt the need to justify himself. Maybe because he didn’t want to appear frail and pathetic to his once mentor. It seemed that he only ever saw Harry when he was passed out or severely injured. 

“You can conjure a Patronus?” Albus asked in surprise as he watched the near immediate effects of the Dreamless Sleep Potion. 

“‘Course,” Harry slurred almost inaudibly. “Since third year.” His breathing evened out in sleep. 

“Remarkable,” Albus whispered to himself, gently brushing his fingers through Harry’s dark messy hair. “Absolutely remarkable.”


	5. Save Them All

_This is for you – the blame is yours._   
_Written on your skin_   
_Spoken in your voice:_   
_A glamour and a lie._   
_-Catherynne Valente, Labyrinth_

_Search for beauty, find your shore_   
_Try to save them all, bleed no more_   
_You have such oceans within_   
_In the end, I will always love you_

_The beginning._   
_-Nightwish, Dark Passion Play, “The Poet and the Pendulum”_

Harry woke with a start, the transition from sleep to awake immediate. He sat bolt upright, ignoring how dizzy that made him, and held his wand at the ready, an expert flick of his wrist releasing it from the sheath on his forearm. 

Well, Harry thought, staring into the mildly startled eyes of Albus Dumbledore. That reaction wasn’t telling.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, feeling a little sick as he sank back down into his bed and storing away his wand. He closed his eyes, wishing away the headache and the pins and needles feeling that spread through his torso. 

“That’s quite all right, Harry. I have the potions you need to take right here,” Albus replied. Harry knew it wasn’t that simple, knew that his reaction was another suspicion, another aspect of the mystery that the wizard would be unobtrusively but relentlessly attempting to solve, but there was nothing he could do about it. 

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, more mindful of his weakness this time, and frowned. He hadn’t noticed earlier, but he didn’t recognize the room. It wasn’t Albus’ bedroom, and it was a tribute to how out of it he was that Harry hadn’t realized immediately. 

“Where am I?” he asked curiously as the other wizard arranged the potions on the empty bedside table. 

Albus’ eyes twinkled in a very familiar way. “While you were out yesterday, the castle saw fit to create a new bedroom next to mine, and the house elves furnished the room. It seems Hogwarts is determined that you stay and recover. Unfortunately, the loo was not connected to your room, but it is located two doors down.When you are feeling better we can go shopping for the necessities, as you seem to have brought nothing with you in your remarkable rush to save the school.” 

Harry was filled with conflicting feelings, and was sure that they showed clearly on his face. It was too much to think about right now, so he shoved the problem to the back of his mind and decided to deal with things one day at a time. “Which first?” he asked with a grimace, and Albus handed him the appropriate vials. He barely managed to keep from gagging at the taste, and swallowed them quickly. 

Albus chuckled lightly at the face he made. “One more day of this, and then you’ll be reduced to nutrient potions,” he commented. 

“I suppose I can live with that,” Harry sighed. “And even if I can’t, I have no doubt either you or Madam Basset will have no qualms forcing the potions upon me.” 

Albus smiled and changed the subject. “Tippy!” he called, and Harry watched as a house elf popped into existence at his bedside. Albus curiously observed that his expression softened in affection. 

Harry, for his part, was remembering Dobby and Kreacher who had, like so many of his friends, died for him. Even Winky, who had overcome her depression to help protect Hogwarts. It had been so long since he had last seen one of the devoted creatures, and he was determined to do his best to make sure it wasn’t necessary for any of them to die in defense of the castle. 

“Hello Tippy. I’m Harry.” When the silence stretched a bit, the house elf staring with wide, round eyes, he added, “Pleased to meet you.” 

The eyes grew teary, hands gripping her long ears, and Harry cringed as he recognized the signs. 

“Great wizard Harry, sir, is pleased to meet Tippy! Great wizard is too kind, too kind!” she nearly sobbed, clinging to one of his arms. “We knows he is powerful, but none says he is so good.” 

Albus gently cleared his throat, eyes twinkling in a very familiar way. The house elf immediately released a very uncomfortable Harry and hopped from one foot to the other, still overcome with emotion. “Tippy will be taking care of you while I am teaching. She will be making sure that you eat regularly, take your potions on time, and _do not wander off_.” The last was said with uncharacteristic sternness. 

Tippy nodded her head wildly. “Tippy will take very good care of Master Harry, sir, and protect him while he recovers.” She disappeared from view, ostensibly to act as a guard against any threat. 

Harry grasped the front of Albus’ robes and pulled him down so that he could speak without Tippy overhearing from wherever she was. “ _Please_ tell me it’s just the house elves,” he breathed. 

The professor chuckled, disregarding Harry’s glare. The scars on the back of Harry’s hand momentarily caught his attention. There seemed to be some sort of pattern to them, almost like…

His hand shot out to grab Harry’s, forgetting completely the question that had been asked. Harry struggled to hide the scars, but he was too late. Albus had seen the words carved into his skin, _I must not tell lies_. 

“Who did this?” he hissed, eyes flashing in anger. 

Harry was so taken aback by the abrupt change in demeanor he could not find the words to reply. 

“Who did this?” Albus repeated. “Blood quills were made illegal years ago for anything other than signing magical contracts. Who tortured you?” 

“I-I,” Harry stammered. “I didn’t…They’re illegal?” 

“Answer the question, Harry,” the other said in a low voice. 

“It was just an old teacher. I think she was insane, really. Some of the things she did later, after she was fired…” He trailed off with a shudder, remembering the sick delight Umbridge had taken when rounding up the Muggleborns as if they were no more than cattle. “She was one sick bitch,” he whispered. 

Albus was startled for a moment at the casual way in which Harry cursed, before his attention returned to more important things. 

“What was her name?” he demanded. “Was she punished for this?” 

“Her name isn’t important,” Harry replied immediately. “And she was killed.” He wished he could take credit for that, but he had only heard about it after the fact. It had been one of the few pieces of good news in a long and brutal war. 

“It is important,” Albus insisted, but he realized that the time for getting his guest to answer his questions had slipped away. 

Harry shook his head and changed the subject. “You still haven’t answered my question. About the house elves and hero worship,” he prompted when Albus looked blank. 

“Ah,” the professor replied, willing to go along with the subject change for the moment. “As the students do not know who you are, what you look like, or the details of what happened – although there have been a slew of impressive rumors – only one of them exhibits any sort of hero worship at the moment.” 

Harry thought about this for only a moment before lying back with a groan of despair. Merlin, he never thought he’d have to deal with Myrtle’s crush ever again. Now that he had acted as a knight in shining armor for the living girl, who knew how much worse this might be. 

“Miss Myrtle Moffat has been expressing a wish to meet you and thank you in person for saving her life,” Albus continued quietly. “I believe her parents wish to do the same, whenever you have recovered. It was quite heroic of you.” 

Harry winced slightly. He was far from being the hero people often made him out to be. “All right,” he agreed with good grace. “Whatever time is convenient, I don’t mind them coming to see me.” 

Albus smiled and straightened, having still been slightly bent over the patient. “We’ll wait for you to recover completely before having them visit. I daresay you would use the excuse to do some further injury to yourself.” 

“Hey.” Harry couldn’t help but pout, and turned his head away slightly. “Just because I’m a trouble magnet…” He trailed off. “Although you’re the first to pick up on it so quickly.” 

“Relax and heal, Harry. I have classes to teach, so I will bid you farewell.” He crossed the room, but paused in the doorway and turned to look back at him. “If you are well enough, we will speak tonight.” His clear blue eyes caught Harry’s bright emerald gaze and held it for a long while. 

When he was gone at last, Harry expelled a shaky breath. Apparently it was time to begin thinking up plausible answers. Albus Dumbledore would not be deterred for long. 

 

Albus paused outside of Harry’s door later that afternoon, hearing the murmur of voices. His classes were over for the week, and he looked forward to learning more about his mysterious guest. He opened the door silently, not wishing to interrupt, and leaned against the doorframe, observing the scene before him. Harry noticed him immediately, he could tell, but never broke off his tale as an oblivious Tippy listened eagerly. Somehow the wizard had managed to convince her to sit on his bed as he leaned against the headboard. 

“ – and so when the evil wizard began the incantation of a spell that would cause me serious harm, Dobby jumped in front of me and said, ‘You shall not harm Harry!’ He just snapped his finger, and the guy went flying arse over kettle. Dobby was such a powerful little person, and a really good friend.” Harry sighed, and was momentarily lost in thought. 

“Where is Dobby now, sir?” Tippy asked. 

Harry looked at her with such a sad expression that her ears drooped slightly, knowing something bad was coming. 

“He was brave and devoted, and when my two best friends and I were taken prisoner, he came to rescue us and take us away. Right as we were leaving he was hit with a knife.” Tippy gasped in horror. “I dug his grave myself and buried him on a peaceful hill near a little cottage.” 

Albus listened intently, mentally studying every detail he released. _Why will you not speak so openly with me, Harry?_ he wondered, slightly melancholy. _Why do you look at me so warily, and watch your words with such care?_ But all he said was, “I see you two are enjoying yourselves.” 

Tippy immediately leaped to her feet, nearly tumbling off the bed in her haste, and began frantically apologizing. “No need for apologies, Tippy,” Albus interrupted, smiling benignly. “I see you have done an excellent job caring for our patient.” 

“Tippy is being very happy to help, Professor Dumblydore, sir. Tippy will be going to get dinner now.” The energetic house elf disappeared with a pop, leaving the two wizards alone. 

“How was your day?” Albus asked, conjuring up a comfortable chair. 

“I dozed off and on for most of the morning,” Harry replied, not telling him it was because he refused to let himself truly fall asleep. No sense in worrying Tippy, and he knew she would probably say something to Dumbledore if he began screaming. “I’m not used to laying about all day, so I amused myself by telling Tippy stories and listening to the castle gossip.” 

“I’m sorry,” Albus said, looking contrite. “I didn’t think to leave you with something to entertain yourself. I have a number of Muggle fiction books, if you would like to borrow any. Also, since it is the weekend, I shall be at your disposal.” He said the last with a faint smile. 

“I don’t remember the last time I read something that wasn’t a magical textbook,” Harry commented. He remembered a time when he was very young, when he would escape Dudley and his gang by hiding in the library. He had loved to read back then. It was his escape, his dream of something better than servitude and abuse at the Dursleys. When he realized how much trouble he received because he had gotten better marks than Duddikins, he had stopped reading, stopped trying. It just wasn’t worth it. 

Perhaps in this relative peace he could rekindle some of that happiness the Dursleys had squashed out of him. “I think I’d like to read something that wasn’t a spell book.” 

“Excellent.” Albus beamed at him, and Harry couldn’t help his responding smile. “You’re a very admirable person, Harry,” he continued softly. “Very few wizards would make friends with a house elf, much less treat them as an equal.”

The time traveler blushed and was saved from replying by the appearance of dinner. He had graduated from broth to soup, which he hoped meant that he could soon return to eating whatever he wanted. Not that he was complaining. He hadn’t eaten anything this good in forever. 

Harry tried to drag it on as long as he could, but eventually he finished eating and Albus fixed him with his piercing gaze. It was time to talk. 

Albus did his best to make it seem more like a conversation and less like an interrogation, and Harry appreciated it. The professor offered up information in return for Harry’s answers, mentioning the incidents that had occurred in the past several years and his suspicions of Tom. And then, in an effort to learn more about his mysterious guest, he offered up bits and pieces of his own life and thoughts. 

The stories Harry heard fascinated him. He was learning about the older wizard on a much more personal level this time around. The work that was required of professors, memorable students and Transfiguration mishaps, the trials and errors of his first years of teaching. He had even mentioned briefly, guiltily, that he was estranged from his brother Aberforth. Harry knew why, of course, but he would never hurt Albus by asking, not even to feign curiosity. He felt compelled – or, in some cases, guilty enough – to share information on his own life, though only the bare bones. How his parents had been murdered when he was a baby, and he had been left with relatives who…hadn’t been fond of him. How he’d had no idea he was a wizard until he received a letter, how he had met friends that had become the family he had always craved. 

Harry couldn’t go on any further. He couldn’t yet remember many of the good times without seeing the deaths of his friends displayed prominently in his mind’s eye. It took a great effort to make him cry, his relatives had made sure of that. But he had a feeling he would never be able to stop crying if he began talking too much about his friends, and he refused to show such weakness in front of Albus Dumbledore. Bad enough his former mentor had seen him mangled and been forced to carry him to the Hospital Wing, he had also then seen Harry attempt and fail to walk even a few meters, and had been forced to carry him again, this time to his own rooms. It hadn’t even stopped there. The next night, the Headmaster had had to levitate his unconscious body back to Albus’ rooms, where the medi-witch had been to come and check him out, and he’d spent the time since confined to bed. 

Merlin, he must look pathetic. 

At last he felt sleep creeping up on him, his occasional naps insufficient to keep it at bay for long. His companion noticed as well, for he stood and commented, “It’s getting late, and you look tired, Harry. I’ll leave you to get some sleep.”

He must not have done a good job of hiding the sudden spike of panic at the thought of sleeping, as Albus paused and leaned closer to him rather than leaving. “Are you all right?” he queried in concern. 

“Of course I am,” Harry replied, attempting to smile. He remembered the last time they had suppressed his nightmares with Dreamless Sleep. Ron had been pale and Neville had looked especially faint when they finally managed to wake him. Only the fact that they had pinned his arms down kept him from automatically hexing the two. His throat had been so raw from screaming he could hardly talk, and when he swallowed he had tasted blood. 

Who knew what would happen now that they were gone, now that they would join the throng of people in his dreams who would blame him for their deaths, for being unable to deal with Voldemort?

Harry ducked his head so as not to give Albus a clear look at his expression, but the older man would have none of that. He gently grasped his chin, and forced Harry to look at him. “You lie,” he said softly, easily able to read the fear in Harry’s eyes. Despite his Occlumency skills, the young wizard had always worn his heart on his sleeve. That was what had made Occlumency so difficult. 

“I’ll be fine,” he said, laying down on the bed and turning away from him, staring blankly at the wall. “It’s not important.” 

“Harry,” Albus protested, and then sighed in defeat. He did not think he would win this battle. Slowly he exited the room, with one last glance at the motionless form on the bed. 

Harry waited until the door was closed and the footsteps had retreated before retrieving his wand and casting a powerful silencing ward on the room. He didn’t want to disturb Albus, after all. He lay back again and stared into the dark, one hand running along his thigh where the Elder Wand was hidden. That, at least, was one task he hadn’t failed yet. 

 

Albus sat in his usual armchair, ensconced with Armando in the Headmaster’s sitting room. He was lost deep in thought, brow furrowed as he brooded on his strange reactions to his new guest. It wasn’t so much that he was under a spell and acting completely contrary to his nature. He had simply taken to Harry, as though he had known him all his life. In spite of his evasions and even lies, which ought to inspire distrust and wariness, he couldn’t help but trust Harry with his life. There seemed, he felt in some instinctive part of himself, to be no one better to do so. 

Albus had also never been a particularly physically demonstrative person, and yet the casual contact he made with Harry seemed entirely natural and unforced. He didn’t think anything of it when he had run a hand through the other’s hair or grasped his chin. Even afterward when he had a chance to examine his actions it seemed somewhat unlike him, but not jarringly against his natural inclinations. 

He was fairly convinced Harry wasn’t a spy for Gellert, at least. A spy certainly wouldn’t bring such attention to himself by appearing out of nowhere to slay a basilisk and save Hogwarts. A spy wouldn’t enter Albus’ world with the goblin-forged blade of Gryffindor and a spray of blood and a flash of brilliant emerald eyes. He certainly wouldn’t attempt his escape before anyone even realized he had awoken. 

So Albus knew some things Harry wasn’t. But he still didn’t know entirely what he was, where he had come from. 

“Albus.” 

He started and glanced up at Armando, who had been attempting to gain his attention for some time. 

“I apologize, Armando.” 

“Lost in thought?” the Headmaster queried with a raised eyebrow. 

Albus looked a bit sheepish as he inclined his head. 

“Now,” Dippet began, business-like. “I suppose the most important question is whether Harry is a threat to the students.” 

“Not at all,” Albus replied sharply, almost before the older wizard had finished speaking. “He saved Hogwarts from a threat we were completely ignorant of. It would be poor thanks were we to treat him as though he had done something wrong.” 

“Relax, Albus, I do not believe he would put our students in danger, but the question must be asked,” Armando said, bemused by his Deputy’s vehemence. 

“Of course,” he replied, though there remained an almost stony cast to his expression. 

“You feel so strongly about this Harry, then?” Dippet asked. 

Albus took the words at face value, his mind shying away from reading any deeper meaning yet. “I do not know exactly why, but I trust him, Armando.” 

The Headmaster nodded. “You have good instincts, and I shall trust your judgment in this matter. But back to the topic at hand, you were able to question him?” 

Albus nodded. 

“How did he know of Riddle and the basilisk when the rest of us were ignorant?” 

“Harry said that he happened to overhear a few things in the village last time Riddle visited, but most of his information he received from the snakes in the area. He is a Parselmouth, as you know, and apparently the snakes knew the moment the basilisk was released from its confinement,” Albus relayed. 

“Then why did he not go to someone in authority, rather than simply rush in to take on a thousand year old creature and a Dark wizard?” Dippet asked.

“He claimed not to have had the time. He said his instincts were screaming at him that something was wrong. If there had been no immediate threat he would have gone for a professor after checking to make sure things were fine for the moment.” 

“And Gryffindor’s sword? Where did that come from?” 

Unconsciously, both wizards glanced in the direction of the Headmaster’s office where the sword was displayed prominently on the wall, as though they could see through stone. 

“It appeared to Harry in his time of need.” 

“That’s it?” Armando asked skeptically. 

Albus shrugged. “Legends do say that the sword could only be drawn by a true Gryffindor, and he certainly displayed that bravery in taking on Slytherin’s monster and descendant. Nowhere does it say how the sword would appear.” 

His companion nodded, willing to let the matter rest for the moment. “What about his uncanny ability to navigate the castle? Most people take weeks to get somewhere without getting lost, and yet Harry seems to know exactly where he is going and how to get there.” 

Albus paused. “That he did not answer to my satisfaction. He said something about Hogwarts: A History and friends who had attended.” 

Armando frowned. “But the book only describes the quirks of the castle, not locations. And even being told about the layout by friends…Did he say who these people were?” 

Albus shook his head, and neither were too surprised by this. 

Armando sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “There are too many unanswered questions here. What has he told you about himself?” 

“Not much,” his Transfigurations professor answered dryly. “He was orphaned at a young age and sent to live with relatives who, at best, tolerated him. I managed to discover that he spent a good deal of his life in Surrey. He attended a magical school, made several friends. Nothing too specific. But I have gathered that he is a very powerful wizard. He was able to cast a patronus at age 13.” 

Armando’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “That is impressive.” 

Albus thought about mentioning the scars on Harry’s hand where he had been tortured – by a teacher no less – but decided against it in the end. It was too much like betraying him, and he obviously did not want people knowing about his scars. How many had he collected in his short life? He had noticed the very faint scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on Harry’s forehead, and he was sure there was a story behind that one. Perhaps Harry would share it with him one day, when he trusted Albus more. 

“You don’t think he fought as a soldier in the war?” the Headmaster commented, interrupting Albus’ thoughts. 

Albus considered this. It had occurred to him once or twice. “I don’t think so. The way he reacts might suggest it, but surely I would have heard of someone with that amount of power and talent, particularly if he had disappeared from the fighting for whatever reason. He doesn’t have an accent either, which lends credence to his being a citizen of Britain. He is…an enigma.” 

 

It was late when Albus returned to his rooms. Fawkes greeted him with a worried trill, causing him to hesitate. He looked at Harry’s closed door, having the sudden urge to check up on his charge. Albus shook his head. He was being foolish. But when he turned to enter his own rooms, Fawkes protested and flew to hover before Harry’s bedroom door. 

Albus frowned. “A quick peek, then,” he told the firebird, who settled on his shoulder at the words. He eased the door open, his eyes taking some time to adjust to the darkness. When he was able to see, he sucked in a breath. 

Harry sat hunched over in bed, trembling like a leaf. His clothes and hair stuck to his skin, soaked with sweat, his eyes were rimmed with red, and his cheeks were damp with what he suspected to be tears. 

“Harry,” Albus murmured, immediately at the wizard’s side, missing completely the silencing ward he passed through. 

The time traveler made no reply, but the harsh gasps that sounded almost like sobs. 

“Harry, Harry look at me.” 

Harry complied, and Albus saw just how much effort it was taking him to keep from breaking down. He took the suffering form in his arms, ignoring how the young, troubled wizard stiffened. 

“It’s all right to cry. You’re only human,” he whispered. 

Albus’ compassion broke through the walls the Dursleys’ cruelty had built, and Harry clung to him, crying silently for everything he had lost.


	6. Learning to Live

_Blink your eyes just once and see everything in ruins_

_…You chose the long road, but we'll be waiting_

_…Noose around a choking heart_   
_Eternity torn apart_   
_Slow toll now the funeral bells_

_"I need to die to feel alive"_   
_-Nightwish, Dark Passion Play, “Bye Bye Beautiful”_

Harry was almost as surprised to find himself clinging to Albus when he woke as he was that he had managed to return to sleep without being sucked into more nightmares. This new position was strange and comforting, and he didn’t want to give it up. Not yet. 

He relaxed against Albus’ chest and closed his eyes. Unbidden, images from his nightmare surfaced, and he fought back tears. They weren’t just nightmares, they were memories, and that made it all the worse. He remembered Neville staying behind to give the rest of them the chance to escape Riddle Manor. He remembered the moment he realized that Neville would never come back. He remembered a week later how Voldemort had sent a group of Inferi against them. Led by Neville’s animated corpse. 

He shuddered weakly, and a tear trickled down his cheek before it was absorbed into Albus’ robes. He had cried himself out, it seemed.

Harry had never seen such a devastated expression on Luna’s face as she was forced to fight against Neville’s body. Ginny had been sick afterward, once Hermione had unleashed Fiendfyre and eradicated the Inferi. They had all been pale and speechless with shock at the depths Voldemort had stooped to. After that, they cremated their fallen. They would not let the bastard strike such a terrible blow against them again. 

Perhaps, Harry thought, that was why he had such trouble mourning and moving on. There were no graves, no closure, he could only keep running and running. He would have to learn to stop running. Even now, as much as he wanted this haven, there was some part of him that urged him to keep moving, to not stay in one place. 

But he could learn to live here, like this. He _would_ learn. For as long as Albus wanted Harry to stay. And perhaps he would never stop being haunted by what he had seen and done, but over time, surely, it would improve? 

And then a thought struck him and he froze, hardly daring to breathe. The _Resurrection Stone_. He knew exactly where it was and how to get it. He could see his friends again, speak with them. He wouldn’t have to go through this alone. Any time Harry needed them, they would be there, someone to talk to, who would understand. Three turns, and Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Luna, all of them would come and – 

_Wait_ , Harry told himself, warning bells going off in his head. _Stop_. He was getting into dangerous territory. Unhealthily obsessive territory. This was the danger of the Stone, of the Mirror of Erised. Hadn’t the second Peverell brother wasted away, attempting to carry on with his dead – wife? – as though she were still alive? 

Professor Dumbledore had told him that it did not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. His friends were dead and gone, and nothing would bring them back. Not as he knew them, anyway, although he would do his best to protect the versions from this timeline. 

And it would kill him if he tried and none of them showed up. Better to believe that they were someplace better than to confirm that the people he knew no longer existed and never would. 

Besides, he had Albus now. And perhaps he was trusting the elder wizard a little too quickly and a little too completely, but Harry had a foundation to build upon. And if it was different the way this relationship progressed, well, Albus was much younger and Harry was older then they had been. This time it was Harry with the secrets held tightly to his chest and Albus did not carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

Let time take it where it will, he would not go looking for the Resurrection Stone, and he would never again own the Cloak. Now all he had left to get rid of was the Deathstick, and perhaps he could relax at last. 

He groaned slightly in embarrassment as he recalled his breakdown. He hadn’t meant to, but it had been building up for so long, and Albus’ compassion had been the final straw. He didn’t think he’d ever simply let go like that. Not with the way tears had practically been beaten out of him. It was strangely cathartic, now that he thought about it. 

The body he was curled up against shifted, and he tilted his head back to catch sleepy blue eyes fluttering open. 

Albus winced as he woke, his back protesting the awkward position he had slept in. He was holding someone – Harry, he remembered – and looked down to check that he was sleeping peacefully. He was surprised to see that his companion was awake. 

“Hello,” he murmured, voice still raspy from sleep. “How long have you been up?” 

“Not long,” Harry replied. “Thanks for…you know.” He looked away, embarrassed. 

“It was my pleasure.” He sat up slowly, hissing in pain as his cramped muscles protested, and carefully untangled himself from Harry. _Purely platonic_ , Albus told himself when the distance brought with it a mild pang of regret. He refused to examine why he felt the need to justify himself. “I’ll bring you your potions.” 

Harry bit back a gasp as he realized that Albus was about to walk through his silencing wards, and without conscious thought his wand was in his hand, instantly canceling them. The professor hadn’t noticed the wards yet, but now that he wasn’t distracted by Harry’s appearance he wouldn’t have been able to miss them had he touched them. 

Albus paused, perhaps sensing that some sort of magic had been done, but continued with only the slightest hesitation. As soon as he was out of sight, none the wiser, Harry sighed and leaned back against the headboard thinking of nothing in particular until the other wizard returned. Once the obligatory healing potions were choked down, Harry commented, “I need a shower.” 

Albus smiled. “The bathroom is two doors down, and also connected to my bedroom. Take as long as you need, and I’ll have breakfast sent up when you’re done.” 

“Thanks, Albus,” Harry said, grinning unabashedly at the thought of a hot shower. Magic just didn’t give the same feeling as scrubbing down in hot water, even if you ended up just as clean. 

The bathroom was neat and tidy, the floor made of white tiles, the bath large and comfortable. The mirror, thankfully, was not one that talked, or he would have gone behind the shower curtain to change. Harry locked both doors and hummed as he stripped off his dirty clothes before turning on the shower and stepping in. He sighed happily as the water beat a tattoo against his back. Merlin, but he was practically giddy with happiness at such a simple thing. He supposed he really had missed the little pleasures in life. 

Harry didn’t know how long it was before he turned off the water and dried himself off, but he realized immediately that there was a problem when his clothes were nowhere to be seen. It seemed the house elves had been by to take his things to the laundry. 

And he hadn’t thought to borrow a second pair of clean clothes before entering the bathroom. Damn. 

He looked down at the towel in his hand and exhaled in resignation before wrapping it around his waist. Harry was not a fan of showing more of his body than was necessary, and it had taken most of his first year to be comfortable around his dorm mates. He was especially self-conscious now that the years of war had marked him. Still, chances were Albus wouldn’t run into him if he was quick. 

Harry’s luck held until he slipped into his bedroom and heard a quiet gasp. He cringed and looked up to see Albus staring at him. 

Albus looked up at the sound of the opening door, and his breath hitched at the sight. For a long moment he could only stare, unable to look away as his eyes traced the patchwork of scars that covered Harry’s torso. The sword wound had only been the latest of many, still red but mostly healed. 

So many scars, Albus thought, stunned. Some thin, others that looked jagged and painful, crisscrossed his stomach and chest – even his arms – alongside what appeared to be puncture wounds. One scar in particular stood out to him, a discoloration in the center of Harry’s chest shaped almost like a starburst. The only scars magic couldn’t get rid of were those caused by Dark magic. 

Someone had tried to kill Harry, he realized blankly. _Many_ people had tried to kill Harry. 

A soft cough jolted him from his thoughts and he quickly turned away, blood rushing to his cheeks. 

“Erm…I forgot I didn’t have any clothes,” Harry said awkwardly, looking anywhere but at Albus. 

“Yes. I took the liberty of shrinking some of my clothes for you.” He gestured needlessly at the robe he had been about to lay on the bed before the younger wizard had come in. “I suppose I shall meet you in the kitchen for breakfast.” 

“Um, yeah.” Harry stepped to the side allowing Albus to exit rather more hastily than usual. He couldn’t resist looking back one last time before shutting the door, confirming that the scarring extended to Harry’s back as well. 

Harry had been in the war. There wasn’t any other explanation. The question was in what capacity had Harry been involved? 

The moment Albus shut the door Harry groaned and collapsed facedown on his bed. Why did these things keep happening to him? He sighed, rolling over onto his back and sitting up. He didn’t want to keep Albus waiting. And really, he thought, examining the set of robes for the first time, Albus’ fashion sense wasn’t so eccentric yet. They were dark green in color, with what looked like an ivy design subtly embroidered in gold. 

“I didn’t realize professors had kitchens,” Harry commented as he entered the room and sat across from Albus. It was small with just a stove, oven, and sink, and obviously wasn’t used very often to cook. The platters on the table contained, as was usual for house elves, an overabundance of food. Bacon, eggs, toast, sausage. His stomach churned a bit at the sight of so much food and settled on toast and some eggs for the moment, with a glass of pumpkin juice. 

“It depends on the rooms they chose,” Albus replied.

They were both content to completely ignore the embarrassing moment from earlier.

“I don’t think any of us cook though. Not when there are house elves more than willing to do so, and with much greater skill.” 

Harry snickered and spoke without thinking, “Don’t let Hermione hear you…” He trailed off, surprised at himself, and quickly stuffed his mouth with a piece of bacon. 

But Albus was not about to let him off the hook this time. “Who is Hermione?” he asked. 

“Just someone,” Harry replied vaguely. 

“Someone important to you.” 

He let the silence stretch before answering. “She was one of my best friends, ever since I was eleven. A genius, and very opinionated.” 

“What were you going to say?” Albus questioned. “Don’t let her hear me…”

“Talk that way about house elves. She’d be horrified and then lecture you about house elf rights, and the evils of slavery, et cetera, until your eyes cross.” Harry smiled fondly. “She went on a bit of a crusade during school, trying to raise awareness and free the house elves. Muggleborn, you know. Always ready to challenge the status quo.” 

“Where is she now?” Albus asked curiously. 

“Dead,” Harry replied tonelessly. “They’re all dead.” 

“Oh,” Albus whispered, pain in his voice and features. “I’m very sorry.” He knew loss. Knew what it was to lose everyone close to you. It had been his own fault, though, in the end. He deserved Aberforth’s disgust and his own guilt that would never leave him. But Harry didn’t deserve this, this death and agony at their passing. 

Words were inadequate to express how sorry he was, and so after a long moment of silence he changed the subject. “And you? Are you a Muggleborn?” 

“Muggle raised,” Harry said shortly. 

Albus let it go, recognizing that this was a sore subject, but he couldn’t help propping his chin on his hand and gazing at the young man. He was fascinating. The more he learned about Harry, the more he wanted to know. 

The more pain he learned Harry had gone through, the more he wanted to protect him. Even if Harry was powerful and skilled enough not to need that protection. 

“You said I could borrow some books?” Harry asked once he was done. It had occurred to him that a Transfiguration Master was likely to have books to help him become an Animagus. The only problem was doing so without him discovering anything. Which probably wasn’t going to happen, but he would make the effort. 

“Certainly.” Albus stood and gestured for him to follow. “They are in my sitting room.” 

Harry smiled slightly at the bookshelf that took up most of one wall. There must be something helpful here. He began with Muggle fiction since that was what Albus thought he would like to read to entertain himself, and he did find one thing. _Peter Pan_ was a book he had always been curious about. He moved on quickly, skipping Arithmancy and Ancient Runes books (the subjects were like a foreign language to him). He raised an eyebrow at some of the books he found spread throughout the DADA section. Several of them were extremely Dark. 

At last he reached Transfiguration and smiled to himself at the selection. There had to be something here about becoming an Animagus. He paused at _Advanced Human to Animal Transfigurations_ and decided it might be helpful, but his eyes lit up when he found _Your Inner Animal: A Guide to the Animagus Transformation_ and _Animagi_. This was definitely what he needed. Perhaps he could study the more advanced books in the other sections some other time. It couldn’t hurt to broaden his arsenal of spells. Every new charm, hex, curse, or shield could someday save his life, after all. 

But for now he would concentrate on making sure Riddle would never escape, and that meant becoming an Animagus. The thought of Riddle on the loose once more made him want to panic.

“Find anything?” the soft voice of Dumbledore questioned. 

“A few things,” Harry replied. He surreptitiously attempted to obscure the titles of the last two books. 

“ _Peter Pan_ ,” Albus read. “That is a good one. I was a little surprised at how drawn you seemed to be toward my area of choice.” 

“Defense is my best subject,” Harry replied, trying to conceal his nervousness, “but Transfiguration proved to be very useful as well.” 

“I feel I should tell you,” Albus began, “that I have owned many of these books for such a long time that I recognize them by sight rather than needing to read the title.” 

“Really?” Harry said weakly for lack of something better to say. _Crap_ , he thought. Well, he hadn’t thought he would be able to do this alone. 

“Really,” Albus confirmed, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Animagus transformations are not something that should be attempted alone. Any missteps can be quite catastrophic.” 

Harry sighed and gave up all pretence of not knowing what Albus was talking about. “Would you be willing to help me?” he asked hopefully. He was rather surprised by how easily the words came to him, considering how he hated asking for anyone’s help. 

“Of course,” the professor replied. “Why don’t you start by reading through those last two books? The human to animal transfiguration book won’t be much help in this case.” 

“Thank you,” Harry said sincerely. He turned to leave the room, and then paused. “If I do this, I won’t be registering at the Ministry.” 

“I suspected as much,” Albus acknowledged gravely. “I trust you, Harry. Whatever you do with this, you will do what is right.” 

Harry coughed, and attempted to speak around the lump in his throat. “Thank you,” he said a little unsteadily, and fled to his bedroom.


	7. Return the Favor

_Tell all the truth but tell it slant, says my friend Emily Dickinson._   
_-Adah, Barbara Kingsolver, The Poisonwood Bible_

_The woods are lovely, dark and deep._   
_But I have promises to keep,_   
_And miles to go before I sleep_   
_And miles to go before I sleep._   
_-Robert Frost, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”_

 

Having spent the weekend reading the books on the Animagus transformation, Harry was more than ready to do anything to alleviate his boredom. He had never been one for taking it easy when he was injured, and Albus refused to allow him to begin the transformation until he was fully healthy. 

_Hagrid!_ The thought hit him with the force of a bludger. Hagrid was still at risk of expulsion if he was found with Aragog. Harry had to find him as soon as possible and convince him to let the acromantula go. Fortunately, Albus was teaching a class at the moment. If he was lucky, he could find Hagrid and return before the professor noticed he was missing. 

Just as he was about to leave, he heard a scolding trill. Turning, he found himself being given a disapproving look by Fawkes, who had been acting nearly as protective of him as Albus was. “It needs to be done, Fawkes, before it’s too late,” Harry said apologetically, and slipped into the empty hallway. 

Albus knew the moment Harry left their rooms, and his eyes sparked with irritation. Suspecting that his friend might attempt to exert himself, he had set up a simple ward that would warn him. It was lucky the second years were reviewing at the moment and therefore did not notice Professor Dumbledore’s anger, or they would have been terrified. 

Harry was completely unaware of the trouble he was in as he headed off to Gryffindor Tower. He hoped someone would be able to tell him what class the Gryffindor fourth years had at the time. Then he could wait and simply waylay Hagrid when class ended. 

He was panting a little when he reached the seventh floor, having been on enforced bed rest with no exercise. 

“Password?” enquired the portrait. 

“I don’t know. I just wanted to know if anyone was in the Common Room, or if you knew what class Gryffindor fourth years had,” Harry replied politely. He and Ron had learned better than to insult the portraits, particularly if you wanted them to do something for you. Not that Harry wasn’t usually polite, but frustration and adolescent issues could rear their head at rather inopportune moments. 

The Fat Lady peered down at him suspiciously. “You don’t look to be a student, young man.” 

“I’m not,” Harry nodded. “I’m just looking to help an old friend.” 

“Well, I suppose I can tell you that the fourth years have a free period right now,” she sniffed. “It’s not exactly secret knowledge.” 

“Thanks,” Harry said brightly, and left quickly. Knowing Hagrid, he’d probably be spending his free time tending to Aragog. Unless he had another extremely dangerous pet hidden somewhere. 

Oh Merlin. 

No, Harry reassured himself. He would have mentioned something if it was more than an acromantula, and anyway, he’s a student now. He shouldn’t have enough time to care for too many creatures. Now, where had Hagrid been keeping his pet? It had been so long since he had witnessed the scene in Riddle’s diary, but he vaguely remembered that it had been near the dungeons. Hopefully something would look familiar, or perhaps a locator spell might work if he was in close proximity to his target. 

The air around him grew noticeably cooler as he descended into the dungeons, and the flickering torchlight led him through the corridors. Harry moved quietly, carefully, sticking to the shadows as best he could. He didn’t want to run into any students, but he particularly didn’t want to run into any Slytherins in their area of the castle. 

Harry tried to ignore the ache in his joints, and the way his legs wanted to shake with so much activity. Damn it, he’d felt just find earlier. He wished his body could keep up. 

He sighed after wandering aimlessly for several minutes. It all looked familiar; he hadn’t the faintest idea which room Hagrid would have used. He gave up finding him on his own and muttered a spell under his breath, following his wand as it lightly tugged him back the way he had come and then down a small hallway hidden by a dark alcove. Harry had to hand it to Hagrid. This was a sneakier and more secretive than he would have expected of the half-giant. 

He heard some scuffling eventually, and a familiar voice, before he came upon the closed door. Deciding not to frighten Hagrid too badly, Harry knocked lightly on the door. 

There was a moment in which silence reigned, and then a hurried shuffling of feet to the door. Hagrid stuck his head out, careful to keep Harry from seeing inside. Harry’s heart swelled at the sight of him. He looked younger and perhaps a little shorter – though he still towered above everyone – but even then he looked quite a bit like the Hagrid he remembered. 

And just as bad at keeping a secret, Harry noted with some amusement. The shifty, guilty look on the half-giant’s face wouldn’t be overlooked by a child. 

“Can I help yeh?” Hagrid asked nervously. 

“Hi,” Harry said with a smile, doing his best to put his old friend at ease. “My name’s Harry.” 

“Rubeus Hagrid,” was his pleased reply as they shook hands. It was nice that someone could meet him without being rude or looking down on him as being inferior. He thought he would like Harry. 

“Well, Hagrid – ”

“Call me Rubeus,” the fourth year interrupted. 

This threw Harry for a moment. _Rubeus. Weird._ It was even harder to think of Hagrid as Rubeus than it was to think of Dumbledore as Albus. He had made the latter adjustment rather quickly, however, so he would try to please Hagrid and make this adjustment too. 

“All right, Rubeus,” Harry tested the name, and continued. “I need to speak with you about your pet.” 

Hagrid went dead white and quickly ushered him into the room before shutting the door behind him. “Wh-what pet?” he stuttered, eyes darting to the large wooden crate in the center of the room. 

“Whoa, whoa, calm down Ha – Rubeus,” Harry said quickly. “I don’t want to get you into any trouble, I promise.” 

The half-giant breathed a sigh of relief at that. “How do you know about Aragog?”

Harry waved away the question, focusing on the real problem. “You could have been in real trouble if he had been found while the Chamber of Secrets scare had been going on. It would have been simple to say the acromantula was the monster and that you were to blame. You could still be in trouble if he’s found.” 

“Aragog wasn’t the monster!” the young half-giant protested. “He would never have done something like that.” 

“I know he wasn’t the monster,” Harry acknowledged softly. “But the authorities were scared and looking for someone to blame. If someone had been killed and you had been found with an acromantula, many wouldn’t have cared it you were responsible or not, they would have punished you anyway. Just to say they had accomplished something.” 

“They wouldn’t have,” the younger wizard protested weakly. 

Harry looked at him compassionately. “It wouldn’t have been the first time, nor the last, that an innocent was judged guilty for a crime they didn’t commit. But,” he continued, making an effort at light-heartedness, “none of that happened this time. Still, I’m worried about you, and what would happen if you kept such a dangerous animal here.” 

“Aragog wouldn’t hurt a fly,” he said stubbornly. 

“Rubeus, because of your size there are very few creatures that can seriously injure you. But almost everyone else in this castle is physically much weaker and smaller. And you know that acromantula are dangerous. Aragog may care for you, and you for him, but it is in his nature to be a very dangerous predator, and a creature cannot deny its nature. You know that.” 

“I know,” Hagrid replied mournfully. “But he’s so interestin’ and I love magical creatures, particularly dragons. They’re fascinatin’.” 

“Before going home, why don’t you let Aragog go in the Forbidden Forest? I’m sure he can survive and live happily in there by now.” _Sorry Ron_ , Harry thought to himself, imagining the sickly green hue his best mate had acquired whenever the subject of the acromantula colony came up. “And if you want to interact with interesting creatures, why don’t you ask if you can assist the Care of Magical Creatures professor with his or her animals? It sounds like something you’d like, and then when you graduate you could probably work with any creature you wanted to.” _With your kind of knowledge and skills, I have no doubt that you’d quickly become an expert._

Rubeus brightened, black eyes sparkling. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’d like to help Professor Herbert, I’d never have thought of it on my own. Thanks Harry.” He gave him a grateful look. 

“Just be careful when you’re transporting Aragog,” he replied with a grin. 

“Will do,” the half-giant replied cheerfully, clapping him on the back with enough force that Harry had to catch the door to keep from falling on his face. “Oops. Sorry about that.” 

“It’s all right,” Harry said. “I’m still recovering from some injuries.” 

He smiled a little to himself as he skirted the hallways, keeping to the shadows as best as he was able. Hagrid – Rubeus, he corrected himself – always had a way of cheering him up without even trying. He was so innocent and trusting. It was nice not to be questioned about his presence or his future knowledge. 

He made a detour to the girl’s bathroom that housed the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, suddenly remembering the Sorting Hat. It had been bothering him on and off for the past few days that no one had mentioned that it was missing. He wanted to double-check that it wasn’t still sitting on a windowsill and more than ready to berate him for forgetting it. If that was the case, surely one of the professor’s would have noticed when cleaning up and sealing off the bathroom. 

It took him several minutes to bypass the security at the door. It was always more difficult to sneak through the wards rather than bringing them crashing down. The room was, thankfully, empty of the dead basilisk, though Harry did wonder briefly where they were storing it. It appeared as though they hadn’t had time to restore the bathroom, however. 

He picked his way among the rubble, searching where he had last left the Sorting Hat. There was no sign immediately apparent, so he whispered a quick, “Accio,” making sure to power down the spell so it wouldn’t affect anything outside of the room. 

Apparently, the Sorting Hat had made its way back to the Headmaster’s office on its own and without incident. He wondered how the hell it had managed that, and was vaguely impressed. 

Now that he knew for sure that the Hat wasn’t waiting furiously for his return, he left quickly.

Harry really hoped Albus wasn’t back yet. He had made it back to their rooms without incident so far, and now hesitated to speak the password. Taking a deep breath, he muttered, “Arx Arcturus,” and entered. 

“Whooo,” he exhaled in relief to see the rooms were empty except for Fawkes, who greeted him with a reproachful stare. 

“I think I overdid it a bit, Fawkes. I might take a nap.” He hesitated, and then asked, “Would…would you sing for me? It helped with the nightmares last time.” 

Fawkes’ stern look softened and he glided over to Harry, chirping encouragingly. 

“Thanks Fawkes. You’re the best.” 

He perched on Harry’s headboard, leaning down over him as he sang the young man to sleep. And he couldn’t help the pearly tear that slipped from his eye and touched the wizard below him. But the wounds he wanted to heal weren’t physical, and so there was little else he could do but sing. 

Harry woke a few hours later, before Albus was due to return. He sat in an armchair next to the fire with _Peter Pan_ in his lap, absently flipping through the pages as his foot tapped restlessly against the ground. Much as he found he was liking Muggle fiction, he didn’t like reading enough to do it for days at a time. 

He had just been considering conjuring up a pack of regular cards to play solitaire – he didn’t know how to create Exploding Snap cards – when Albus entered the room. Harry stood and turned to greet him. His smile slipped off of his face at the expression on Albus’. 

“Were you not required to stay in these rooms without straining yourself?” the professor queried angrily. 

“Albus?” Harry said uncertainly. 

“I warded these rooms, and they alerted me the moment you left.” 

“Oh,” the time traveler said quietly, suppressing a wince. 

Albus grasped him by the shoulders, restraining the urge to shake him. “Do you care nothing for your health or safety?” he demanded. “If you have experienced even _half_ of what I imagine, you cannot afford to be anything less than fully healed. And until you stop pushing yourself beyond your current physical capabilities, you will never allow your body to fully recover.” 

Harry stared at him, green eyes wide. He could think of nothing to say. 

“This has been explained to you more than once.” Albus peered down at him, and then released his shoulders with a sigh. “Your health and well-being have never been one of your priorities, have they?” he asked quietly. 

“I…um…Not – not as much as other people, I guess,” Harry mumbled nervously. 

“And was whatever errand you embarked on this afternoon a matter of life and death?” asked Albus. 

Harry thought this through carefully. Aragog was young and only about the size of a dog right now. Hagrid kept him locked away and hidden, so it was unlikely for anyone to stumble upon him, and even then Aragog cared enough about Hagrid not to go killing any students of Hogwarts. Yet. Hagrid was sure to keep him well-fed in any case. 

“No,” he said at last. 

Albus really didn’t like that long pause. 

“All right,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Harry, just please promise me you won’t leave these rooms until Cordelia says you’re fully recovered. It shouldn’t be too much longer, as long as you weren’t exhausting yourself this afternoon.” 

Albus pinned him with such an intense stare that Harry couldn’t refuse. “I promise,” he agreed. 

“Good.” He was silent for a long time. Harry had begun to wonder whether he ought to find something else to do when Albus spoke again. “You were in the war, weren’t you?” It was more a statement than a question. 

Harry paused. “In the Second War,” he agreed, lips twitching. Completely truthful, and completely misleading. 

Albus could feel that there was something amiss with the answer. Not a lie, but his instincts told him that there was more to the response than he could see. “That’s where you received your scars.” 

“Most of them.” The Dursleys had had a hand in that as well, but Harry would be damned if he let that slip. 

“In what capacity did you participate? I would have thought to have heard of someone with your skill and power.” 

Harry looked away bashfully at the compliment. “I was mostly just trying to survive, to escape from patrols. But why would you have heard of me?” He suspected, but that was with the benefit of more than half a century of historical knowledge.

_That_ question gave Albus pause. “I am a…an advisor of sorts with the Ministry.” 

Harry tilted his head to one side. If Albus had been the one to seek out and defeat Grindelwald, and the government had assisted or approved of the move, then Albus had to be doing more than simply giving advice. “Then I should be the one warning you to be careful.” The glimmer of a smile hovered around his mouth. 

“Indeed,” Albus chuckled. 

 

The end of the school year approached rather slowly, considering that it had only been about a week away. Albus had taken it upon himself to purchase several robes for Harry and a few other necessities, with the promise of more serious shopping when Harry was well enough to make the trip. At last, though, as school let out for the summer Harry had been considered fully healed, and able to move about as he wished. Just in time, since Myrtle’s parents had arrived the day after the Leaving Feast to thank him in person. 

He could see that Myrtle had gotten her looks from her father, and her high-strung tendencies from her mother. Still, they were rather pleasant, if somewhat uninteresting people. Myrtle’s extensive blushing, and coy batting of her eyelashes had him on edge for most of the meeting, so he almost missed it when they mentioned a Life Debt. 

He tried to protest, saying that he didn’t want them in his debt, that anyone would have done the same, but they were rather stubborn about this, and so he had said he would call upon them if he needed anything at all. Not that he had any intention of following through, but the family seemed pleased. 

Albus had laughed at him once they had gone. “Can’t take compliments, can’t take thanks. You really are rather selfless, aren’t you?” 

Harry scowled at him and chose to disregard the comment instead flopping on the couch and groaning. “Did you see that? Did you see? I thought I was done with girls mooning over me, and now I’m being looked at like I’m her dream-come-true or something. Not that I’m complaining about saving her life or anything, but still.” 

“You would be anyone’s ‘dream-come-true’, I’m sure,” Albus replied with studied light-heartedness. 

“Very funny, Albus,” Harry muttered, rolling his eyes. 

“Have you given any thought to the summer holidays?” the professor asked. 

“A bit,” Harry replied cautiously. 

“I will be staying in my cottage in the countryside for most of the holiday. If you prefer, however, I’m sure Armando might be persuaded to let you remain in the castle.” 

The younger wizard sat up, gazing at him with hopeful green eyes. “You want me to come with you to your home? I won’t be in the way?” 

“Of course I want you to come, Harry,” Albus replied without hesitation. “Fawkes would love that as well. But I want to give you choices.” 

Harry beamed. “I’d love to come if you’ll have me.” 

“Good.” Albus laughed. “I daresay with the way Fawkes dotes on you, you would have found yourself flamed into my parlour in any case.” 

Harry snickered. It was the first time he could remember looking forward to the summer holidays.


	8. A Child in Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really should have explained this earlier since I’ve had a few people ask about it, but I guess I forgot. About the method of time travel, there are no paradoxes because when Harry went back in time he created a new timeline. Everything was the same up until the moment he ended up in the past, and then it just sort of branched off of Harry’s original timeline. If another Harry Potter is born, he will have a completely different life, and probably a completely different personality. So, he would be drawn to a different wand than the one time-traveling-Harry acquired. 
> 
> In response to Fawkes’ liking of Harry, part of it is that Harry is a truly good person, and part of it is that he can sense that Harry was at one point, or would have been, on very good terms with him. Part of it is also in response to Harry’s own feelings of affection and recognition toward the phoenix. 
> 
> Myrtle’s parents don’t ask questions because they received a basic summary of events from the Headmaster without any of their suspicions or questions about Harry’s appearance. They are mostly just happy and overwhelmingly grateful that Harry was there and able to save their daughter. Most of their questions were directed toward the Headmaster and were along the lines of, “How the hell has a basilisk/aspiring Dark Lord been running around without anyone knowing?!”
> 
> Age: Harry is in his early 20’s, somewhere around 23. I imagine Albus to look as though he’s in his late 30’s, although canon says he’s in his late 50’s, early 60’s.

_Tuck me in beneath the blue_   
_Beneath the Pain,_   
_Beneath the rain_   
_Goodnight kiss for a child in time_   
_Swaying blade my lullaby_   
_-Nightwish, Dark Passion Play, “The Poet and the Pendulum”_

 

Albus and Harry joined the remaining professors for breakfast before leaving for Albus’ cottage the day after the Leaving Feast. It was uncomfortable for Harry being the center of their attention, but he had to get over the initial meeting sooner or later if he was to return to the castle in September. 

Slughorn, he was pleased to note, was about as far away as it was possible to be on the rather reduced table, making any conversation extremely difficult. This did not prevent Harry from noting the speculative, possessive gleam in the Potions Professor’s prominent eyes. He felt uncomfortably like a crystallized pineapple. No doubt the man thought he would be an excellent addition to his Slug Club, and Harry vowed to avoid that fate at all costs. 

The sacrifice he made for this distance from the Slytherin, however, meant that he was across from Madam Basset, and for a good 20 minutes was treated to a lecture on his health that seemed to combine the maternal scolding of Mrs. Weasley and the matronly knowledge of Madam Pomfrey, although a touch softer than either of the women. 

Professor Galatea Merrythought was seated to Harry’s right, and he listened to her conversation with interest whenever he had a chance. It was nice to know that there was a Defense professor out there somewhere who would not actively attempt to kill him. 

At the moment she was speaking of the extra credit one of her NEWT students had managed to complete, summoning a corporeal patronus. He smiled faintly as she gestured animatedly, obviously proud of whoever had managed the spell. 

“It is extremely impressive. I’m amazed a 17-year-old student was able to produce more than a cloud of mist,” she said. 

“Younger students can master a patronus,” Harry commented before he could help himself, and immediately regretted it. Perhaps the professor would take offense? But he was proud of what the DA had accomplished, proving that even the younger students could learn powerful and complex magic. 

“Is that so?” Professor Merrythought asked, peering at him curiously. 

There was nothing to it but to respond. Albus’ hand on his arm gave him courage, and he flashed him a quick grin. “I tutored a group of students from one second year to several seventh years, and one of the spells we concentrated on was the Patronus. A few of the younger years couldn’t produce more than a misty shield, but all of the older students produced full Patroni. I think most of them were able to summon them in the presence of Dementors too,” he mused thoughtfully. 

“Where on earth did you encounter Dementors?” Madam Basset gasped. 

Harry stiffened. Damn. Dementors were such a common aspect of his life he had forgotten that they would have been rarely seen outside of Azkaban. “A few of us ran across a group of rogue Dementors,” he answered after an expectant pause to collect his thoughts, and promptly returned his attention to breakfast. 

“Well,” Galatea commented. “That is an extraordinary feat. You must be a very good teacher, Harry. Perhaps you should consider assisting me in DADA, and then you’d be in a position to take over when I retire.” 

Harry flushed. “Thanks,” he mumbled into his potatoes, missing the thoughtful look on Albus’ face. 

There was a round of impressed murmurs from the rest of the professors present before conversation turned to other topics. 

 

Albus side-along Apparated Harry to his cottage later in the morning. The home was at least a mile away from any neighbors, and two miles away from the nearest town. A small wood bordered the back of the two storey house, and a flourishing garden was sprawled out front. 

Harry loved it. 

It was small and secluded. Cozy, he decided as he looked around the living room with its light blue walls and comfortably cushioned couch and armchairs. A large window spilled sunlight into the room and a large fireplace took up the majority of space against one wall. 

“You have a beautiful home,” Harry said to Albus as he looked around. 

“Thank you, Harry. Shall I show you your room?” 

“Please.” He smiled and it was returned. 

His room was done in a cream color, complete with a large bed and hardwood desk and chest of drawers. He assumed the door to his left was a closet, as the upstairs bathroom was located just down the hall. He looked around and thought this might be one of the best rooms he had ever been given, and told Albus so. 

“I’m glad you like it,” Albus beamed. 

The two settled into a routine during the first few weeks of summer. Harry always woke before Albus – mainly due to his nightmares, though he kept that secret from the other – and generally had breakfast made by the time Albus came down. The fridge was able to provide whatever he needed, within reason, due to a complicated Transfiguration spell that Harry didn’t even bother trying to figure out. Their grocery supplier would send them the bill by owl every week, and no matter how Harry tried to chip in with money from the first sale of the basilisk parts, Albus refused to let him pay. So, Harry did what he had been trained to do, and took to cooking, cleaning, and puttering around the garden as a form of repayment. 

In the mornings after breakfast and the evenings before bed, Albus set him to meditating for his Animagus form. Three weeks of this, and Harry was grinding his teeth in frustration. His active practicing of Occlumency ought to have made this easier, faster, and this was the simplest part of the process. So why wasn’t it working? It was as though there was some mental block that prevented him from accomplishing this first step. 

The longer this took with nothing to show for his attempts, the more he felt like screaming in frustration. He knew that impatience would only further hinder him, but he truly couldn’t help it. Harry was not exactly a patient person by nature. 

Seeing Harry’s frustration, Albus decided to try something a little different. He began asking questions about Harry’s magic, focusing on accidental or wandless incidences. Unfortunately, this just seemed to make him more agitated. 

“What can you recall of your instances of accidental magic as a child? How many times do you recall using accidental magic, and what have you done?” 

Harry scowled at him, body tense. “Albus, I don’t see what this has to do with my Animagus form.” 

“I promise you, Harry, this will help me get a better idea of how to proceed. The potential for wandless magic influences the way the Animagus transformation should be taught, and accidental outbursts of magic during childhood are an indication of this.” 

Harry shook his head. 

“Harry,” Albus said sternly. “Please answer the questions.” 

“You don’t need to know.” 

“I do. If my original method isn’t working then – ”

“ _Fine_ ,” Harry snapped, leaping to his feet, patience snapped as his frustration fueled his anger. His shoulders were slightly hunched, and he felt as though he had been trapped in a corner. Had he been an animal, his hackles would be raised. “I healed. Faster than was normal, bruises, cuts, broken bones. My magic kept me from dying of starvation or dehydration, allowed me to escape once so I ended up on the roof of the school. Quickened my recovery from the ‘love’ of my relatives. Kept me from dropping down dead of exhaustion.” 

He felt a vicious satisfaction as Albus grew paler with his every word. _Good_ , said a voice in the back of his mind. _Let him suffer, it’s his fault, all his fault._

_No_ , protested another part of him. _That was Dumbledore, not Albus. This isn’t him. He wouldn’t do that to me_.

_He did! He abandoned me then and he’d do it again if given the chance! And again, and again…_

_I can’t blame him for something that never happened._

_His fault, he’s to blame!_

_They’re two different people!_

Harry couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand to look at the man while he warred with himself, struggling to see Albus as he was, and not Dumbledore as he would have become. No doubt he could feel Harry’s fury and his blame, and was confused and hurt by it, but Harry just couldn’t deal with the wizard at the moment. He fled outside, into the bright, cool air of a summer morning and collapsed on his knees against a tree, burying his face in his hands and panting as though he’d run a mile. 

Apparently he hadn’t done such a good job separating Albus Dumbledore’s past and future self as he thought he had. And apparently he was not quite as forgiving of his old Headmaster as he had thought he was. He supposed these feelings of blame and betrayal had been simmering inside of him for quite a while, Harry being unable and unwilling to find an outlet in a dead man. Now that he was alive, whole, and unaware, he had the perfect scapegoat. 

But he didn’t _want_ to feel like this about Albus. Albus who had taken care of him, and taken him in, and done so much for him without asking for anything in return. Albus who he was coming to love as one of his best friends, his only close friend alive now. 

Deep breaths, Harry told himself. No thinking just yet. A breeze stirred his messy black hair, and he watched the grass sway. Leaves rustled, and sunlight dappled the ground. Calm. 

Drawn by some instinct, he gripped the lowest branch of the tree and scrambled up. Up and up, from branch to branch as they thinned until they barely supported his weight. He leaned against the slender trunk near the very top and took in the clear blue skies. Harry didn’t have a broom yet, but this was the next best thing. Rise above his problems until he could see them clearly. 

Harry didn’t know how long he sat there, staring out over the treetops, but the heat of the sun beat fiercely on his head when he came back to himself. He felt calm, he realized. More calm than he had been since he first began his attempts at finding his Animagus form. 

He closed his eyes. Albus was Albus. Professor Dumbledore was dead and gone, and it was no use harboring anger or betrayal at the thought of a dead man. Harry’s own past could not be changed, but perhaps his presence might influence Albus in such a way that he would not become such a puppet master. Really, the man was not the same person as his older self. 

Harry began climbing back down, retaining a sense of serenity even when he slipped on a branch near the ground and ended up flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him. 

“Ow,” he muttered, sprawled motionless on the ground as he waited for his breath to return to him. 

“Harry?” Albus called his name cautiously from the back door, gazing in his direction worriedly as he rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up. 

“I’m all right,” Harry said loudly enough for his voice to carry. “I just slipped.” 

Albus smiled tentatively as Harry approached the house. “Would you like to talk?”

“No.” Harry shook his head. “It’s over and done with, and I prefer not to think about it. But I am sorry for taking out my anger and frustration on you,” he apologized earnestly. “You didn’t deserve it.” 

“It’s all right, Harry. I know you’re feeling stressed. I expect this is just part of learning to live together. I remember the fights my dormmates and I used to have when I attended Hogwarts…” Albus trailed off as he reminisced. 

“I know what you mean,” Harry agreed wryly. A group of adolescent boys in a relatively confined space was the recipe for a series of explosions over the years as they learned to deal with each other’s quirks and personalities. Compared to that, living with Albus was paradise. 

Albus raised an eyebrow, and his younger housemate quickly avoided his gaze. 

_Deep, even breaths, relax, clear your mind, call for your animal incarnation_ , Harry repeated to himself. Had he thought it would actually work at that moment, he would have made sure to sit down first. 

A gray muzzle. Soft fur. Sharp teeth. Muscles coiled beneath a thick pelt. Familiar amber eyes. 

And then the image was ripped away and replaced by the laughing face of a baby whose hair changed as often as his mother’s, and whose eyes were the amber of his father’s. 

A heartrending wail reached Harry’s ears as if from a distance, and he wondered who was making such a noise. It took him several long moments to realize that the noise was coming from his throat, and he clung desperately to Albus, muffling the sound against the other wizard’s chest. 

Albus struggled to disentangle Harry enough so that he could look him in the face. “Harry,” he said frantically. “Harry!” 

Harry struggled to focus on Albus, managing a glimpse of his frightened expression, but he didn’t have the strength to reassure him. He didn’t know if the memories had unlocked his Animagus form, or if his Animagus form had unlocked his memories, but either way he was completely unprepared for the onslaught. 

“Teddy,” he moaned. “My godson. I forgot. Oh God, I forgot, I didn’t want to remember so I forgot.” 

“It’s all right. Everything will be fine.” Albus murmured comforting words in Harry’s ear and held him close, unsure what else to do. He had seen Harry depressed and devastated before, but never on this scale. 

“I was relieved…when I first found him… They had only used…the Killing Curse.” 

Albus gripped him even tighter at his words. 

“No torture, no blood…no experiments with silver, no marks. Not like what his grandmother suffered trying to protect him. My Metamorphmagus werewolf cub…” His words dissolved into sobs. 

“He was a baby!” Harry shrieked. “My parents…my godfather…died for me. And I couldn’t even do that much for Teddy! His grandmother and I…all he had left. Merlin, I’m an awful godfather.”

It had been over a year since he had stumbled upon the bodies of his godson and Andromeda, but it felt like it had taken place only hours ago. He had locked that memory away, and the intervening years seemed only to intensify his feelings. His friends had told him that he should talk about it, that he needed to deal with this instead of just ignoring it, but he had snapped and snarled, stonewalling them until they gave up and he forgot. Remus, Tonks, they would have been so ashamed to know he had failed them and their child. 

He was the wolf without his cub. He was Harry without his godchild. It ripped him apart, and he was surprised not to see gaping wounds upon his skin. 

He had only seen Teddy three times, but he had loved him with everything in him. Once in a picture when Remus announced his birth and made Harry godfather. Once while on the run, and he had simply held Teddy for nearly an hour, kissing the dark head of hair the baby had adopted upon the sight of his godfather. 

And once in death. Cold and still. His greatest failure. 

Harry keened as the memory assaulted him again and again, all the more painful for its unexpectedness. 

“Somnolus,” Albus murmured, and caught the limp form of the slumbering wizard. “Oh, my poor Harry. Why do such things happen to you?” 

Fawkes flashed into the room and trilled sadly as Albus gently lay Harry on the couch. He made to stand and was stopped in a stooped position by Harry’s grip on his robes. Even in sleep he clung to the nearest source of comfort, and Albus did not have the heart to deny him. 

He positioned himself on the couch next to Harry, careful to make sure that his houseguest was comfortable. The couch required a bit of enlarging, but that was no problem. 

The professor’s phoenix companion perched on the armrest above their heads and sang quietly to further soothe Harry. 

“Phoenix tears won’t heal this hurt,” Albus whispered to his companion as liquid gathered in the avian’s eyes. 

The feeling he received through their bond was mournful acknowledgement. 

“You do adore Harry,” he murmured to Fawkes, tilting his head back to look at the bird. 

The knowing feeling hit him all at once through the bond, and he found that he was blushing. “Yes,” he breathed so quietly that even if Harry had been awake he wouldn’t have been able to hear. “I do as well.” 

 

“I’m a wolf,” Harry stated abruptly. 

Albus jumped, not realizing that he had been awake. 

“My Animagus form,” he elaborated as Albus sat up and stretched. 

“It’s past lunch time,” the elder wizard said. “Are you hungry?” 

Harry shook his head. 

“One of my dad’s best friends was a werewolf,” he said, more to fill in the silence than anything else. He found that once he began, he couldn’t seem to stop. “Remus. He eventually married the daughter of my godfather’s favorite cousin, once she had finally convinced him that his lycanthropy didn’t matter to her. They had a baby boy. Ted. Or Teddy as everyone called him. He was a Metamorphmagus after his mother. 

“They named me godfather. And then they died in battle when he was only months old. His grandmother and I were the only ones he had left. They went into hiding, and I saw him once before they died. 

“Everyone around me died,” Harry whispered. “Even my innocent godchild. I was going to make sure his childhood wasn’t anything like mine.” He laughed, and there was an edge of hysteria to it. “Well, it wasn’t. It was a hell of a lot shorter.” His voice cracked, and he took deep breaths to calm himself while Albus rubbed his back soothingly and simply listened. 

“I was supposed to protect him, and I couldn’t even get that right,” Harry said bitterly. “I refused to talk about his death, or even think about it, and I guess I got so good at it I forgot him altogether. I don’t know if the sight of my wolf form made me remember, or if I was subconsciously blocking my form and the memory of Teddy released it. I’m sorry if I scared you. I guess not dealing with it made my reactions just that much worse than usual.” 

“It was not your fault, Harry,” Albus told him. “Blame whoever killed that poor child and his grandmother, but never blame yourself. I’m sure you would have died for him if given the chance, but now you must live for him.” 

“Yes.” Harry sighed and leaned against him. “You’re right Albus. It’s just easier said than done.”

Whoever had cursed him with the title Boy-Who-Lived, Harry fervently prayed that he was burning in hell. It seemed as though he always lived at the expense of others.


	9. Strangers in the Night

_The unicorns are riding high_   
_Powerful in coats of white_   
_We turn to look and burn our eyes_   
_I carry on…I carry…_   
_The vampires are growing tired_   
_The coats of white all turn to red_   
_My heart burns with desire_   
_I carry on I carry on_   
_-“Half a Week Before the Winter,” Vanessa Carlton_

Harry glanced worriedly at the clock as he absentmindedly wiped down the table for the third time that morning. It was after 9:30. Albus rarely slept in until 9:00. Already he had finished his morning run through the woods and around the property. Harry didn’t dare let himself get out of shape. He worked on learning any useful spell he could find in Albus’ books, and religiously practiced accuracy and speed in spellcasting. It wasn’t quite as good as a practice duel, but he didn’t want to ask Albus to go out of his way to help him when he was often busy in his study and already teaching him the Animagus transformation.

Harry leaned against the counter, fingers drumming against the countertop. More and more unlikely and unpleasant scenarios were crowding his mind until at last he decided enough was enough. He needed to check on Albus if he wanted to retain his sanity. 

He ghosted up the stairs and self-consciously cracked open Albus’ bedroom door, taking in the room at a glance. He saw Albus’ restless form, the sheets tossed half off the bed, and heard him whimper. Nightmare, Harry realized immediately. 

“No, stop…No…Arianna,” Albus murmured. 

_I really am infectious_ , Harry realized with a mental sneer. _Like a virus_. He would be willing to bet it was his breakdown about Teddy that had sparked this nightmare. 

He took a step into the room, and then paused. Perhaps Albus would prefer it if Harry wasn’t witness to this. And he really didn’t have much experience comforting _others_ after bad dreams. 

But Albus didn’t deserve to suffer longer than necessary, and he had been so kind to Harry when he had walked in on the aftermath of one of his own nightmares. He crept across the room and eased himself onto the bed, careful not to disturb its occupant. This close he could see the tears that slipped down Albus’ cheeks, and he felt fully helpless. What should he do? He knew it was best to be shaken awake as quickly as possible for the thrashing, screaming nightmares, but this wasn’t one of those. This was quiet, hopeless grieving. 

Harry furrowed his brow in thought, trying to remember what the girls had done. What all of his friends had done for him when trying to wake him when he wasn’t screaming his head off. 

Tentatively, he brushed his fingertips against Albus’ brow, and then gently combed his fingers through his long auburn hair. The older wizard calmed marginally, but still he moaned and twitched. Harry struggled to remember what else had they done.

“It’s all right, Albus,” he murmured quietly, trying to make his tone as soothing as possible. “It’s all right.” Harry closed his eyes and found that he was less self-conscious that way. 

“There’s nothing you can do, it’s all in the past now. Everyone makes mistakes, Albus. We all make mistakes. It’s not your fault. Don’t shoulder all the blame. It gets a little easier in time. Just learn from what happened and move on. Grieve all you need, but they wouldn’t want you to be so unhappy. She loved you. She still loves you, even though she’s gone.” 

He kept up a steady litany of reassurances, at times hardly aware of what he said, but almost certain it was what Albus needed to hear. 

Harry looked down at his friend and paused mid-sentence. Albus’ crystal blue eyes were open and staring at him in shock. Slowly, he retracted the hand that was tangled in the other wizard’s hair, unable to look away. He opened his mouth as if to speak, and then closed it again. He could think of nothing to say. 

And then, suddenly, a wand was leveled at his throat, Albus’ eyes narrowed in suspicion and desperation. “Who are you really,” he demanded in a voice so low it almost sounded like a growl. 

Harry simply gazed at him through heavy-lidded eyes for a moment before tilting his head back to expose his throat more fully to the professor’s wand. “Going to kill me Albus?” he asked quietly. 

Albus didn’t know whether Harry trusted that he wouldn’t harm him, or whether Harry remained completely dismissive of his own life. Either way, he lowered his wand and bowed his head. He knew, Albus realized, his entire body hot with shame. Harry knew at least something of what had really happened with his sister. He was desperate to know how, but he could never harm Harry. 

He was jolted from his thoughts by Harry’s brief, awkward hug. “Breakfast is ready if you’re hungry,” he said. “I’ll let you get dressed.” 

He quietly exited the master bedroom and leaned against the wall with a sigh. A humorless chuckle escaped him as he straightened and made his way to the kitchen. What a pair they made! Two almost broken men. 

Harry noticed how pale Albus appeared in the well-lit kitchen, and a certain redness remained about his eyes. The older wizard avoided his gaze, and so Harry turned to leave, thinking it would make Albus more comfortable. 

“Wait,” he said softly, and Harry stopped. “I would like to speak to you in the living room when I am done eating, please.” 

“Of course,” the time-traveler acquiesced. 

Albus stared into space, most of the time pushing his food around on his plate rather than eating it. He was putting off the inevitable, he knew, and shivered at the sudden certainty of rejection. He was attracted to Harry. Deeply attracted to Harry. He could admit that to himself now, knowing that rejection was imminent. His companion knew at least a part of his greatest shame. His awful past. 

Aberforth still hated him. 

He didn’t _want_ Harry to know the kind of person he had been and could become again. Remembering the little Harry had told him about his muggle relatives, he sometimes and briefly wondered whether Gellert didn’t have the right of things, and had simply made a mistake in the execution. And then he would be more than slightly horrified at his own thoughts. He didn’t want Harry to think badly of him, and he didn’t want to slip and return to the arrogant, power-hungry wizard he had been. 

Albus heaved a sigh and pushed back his chair. He shouldn’t delay any longer. The two of them needed to talk. 

Harry was sprawled on the couch, a book open and resting on his chest when Albus entered the room. The younger wizard sat up and smiled tentatively at him. “Hey,” he said. 

“I don’t know where to start,” Albus murmured, hesitating before taking a seat in the armchair. 

Harry was quiet, allowing Albus however long he needed to gather his thoughts. 

“You know some of what happened with…with Arianna,” he said slowly. 

“Yes.” There was no point denying it. 

“How?” Albus’ voice cracked on the word, and Harry saw suddenly how much he feared others unearthing his early history. 

“Just a few things I heard in Godric’s Hollow,” he replied evasively. “It’s not something well-known or bandied about. Don’t worry.” 

It did not quite reassure Albus, but he wasn’t about to go into a panic either. 

“You don’t have to tell me, Albus,” Harry said softly. “It won’t change how well I think of you.” 

Albus’ heart skipped a beat. Harry thought well of him. It was implied, of course, but had never been spoken out loud. 

“I feel I ought to tell you,” he said with surprising honesty. “And I believe it may help both of us.” _To recover from our demons_ , remained unspoken. Harry had shared some of the trauma of his past. It was only fair Albus do the same. “I’ve never spoken about this with anyone before. It is…difficult.” 

And Albus told him, about Arianna and Grindelwald and Aberforth, in greater detail than he knew. Harry listened quietly, intently, and without judgment as the other wizard unburdened himself. Often he saw tears in Albus’ eyes, though he didn’t let them fall. Albus had lived with this for far too long to break down as Harry had done. He was honored to be the person Albus confided in, almost certain that Professor Dumbledore of the future had never chosen to confide like this to anyone. Not even Professor McGonagall. 

“Thank you for telling me, Albus,” Harry said solemnly, a hand on his shoulder. “And just so there is no confusion, I do not think any less of you. As I said earlier, we all make mistakes, and you are dedicated enough to learn from yours.” His smile was sincere if melancholy. 

“Thank you,” Albus whispered, unable to find the words he wanted to express how grateful he was, but Harry understood. 

 

Harry remained subdued in the days following his latest and worst breakdown. He focused all of his energies into studying the anatomy of a wolf and attempting to transform himself. The most difficult and most vital part of becoming an Animagus was putting yourself in the mindset of the animal. How could he think like a wolf? It was a conundrum he pondered in his free time. 

Albus locked himself in his study more often than not these days, deciphering the coded messages that came by owl. The few glimpses Harry had into the room showed papers piled on top of the desk and overflowing, and various tomes open to certain pages. Harry was curious, of course, but it wasn’t worth his curiosity. There was no way Albus could simply overlook him were he to break in and look through sensitive war documents. He would be thrust before the ministry before he could blink, and likely imprisoned, his lack of background working against him. In some of the worst scenarios he could imagine, the government would find out about his time travel, and lock him away as some experiment for study, breaking his mind open to learn what would happen, and how to use the time travel ritual to their own advantage. His distrust of the ministry of his time had naturally transferred to this ministry, and he could easily see them using him for their own selfish gain, or information leaking to some powerful, opportunistic Dark Lord.

No. No one could _ever_ know that he was a time traveler. Simply satisfying his curiosity was not worth the risk. 

Too, Harry knew nothing about the type of war that was being waged. He was an expert at guerilla warfare, not this organized, chain of command, battalion sort of thing. Ron would probably be in his element as a strategist in World War II, but Harry was rather crappy at chess and all related strategy games. 

It had briefly occurred to him that he could volunteer to fight in the war, but he was so _tired_ of fighting. Not to mention he wouldn’t make a very good soldier, having always had a problem with rules and authority figures. No, it was best to let the experts handle World War II. But he would be there with Albus when he confronted Grindelwald. He had decided it a long time ago, actually, but Albus’ confession had only confirmed his decision. 

Harry couldn’t blame Albus’ hesitance to confront his old friend. It was more than a lack of information on the location and defense of the tyrant’s headquarters, although that was an aspect that needed considering as well. If he had been in Albus’ place, and Ron or Hermione were responsible for such evil, he didn’t know if he could bring himself to participate in a duel with them that would likely end in death. 

_One more year_ , Harry thought to himself. _A little less than that, before the famous duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald._

Albus had been spending more and more time away from the cottage as well. He had yet to be gone overnight, so Harry was fairly confident he hadn’t left the country, but it worried him. He had taken to acquainting himself with the local snake population, but snakes were not the best conversationalists, nonmagical snakes in particular. 

Today Albus had been working rather feverishly in his study, emerging only for meals and Animagus lessons. They had not gone well. The younger wizard had burnt lunch and twice been stuck with wolf ears. 

“Are you quite all right, Harry?” Albus asked in concern. “You’ve been a bit twitchy all day.” 

“I don’t know. Something…” He trailed off. He had been feeling uneasy all day, as though danger were looming near. And his instincts had saved his life more than once. “Something bad is going to happen.” For what must have been the thousandth time that day, he brushed his fingers against his thigh, where the Elder Wand hid. It was still there, he reassured himself. And his own wand never left its arm holster. 

“What do you mean?” Albus questioned, his gaze sharpening. “What sort of danger?” 

Harry shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know,” he repeated. 

Albus didn’t say anything more. But Harry noticed when he added a new series of temporary wards to the doors that led outside and the entrance to his office. 

 

“Harry, wake up.” 

Despite it being just after 3:00 in the morning, Harry was instantly alert, his wand in his hand. 

“Albus?” He squinted, barely making out the wizard’s features in the moonlight streaming through the window. 

“Someone is breaking through the property wards,” Albus said. “They put up Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey wards. If you hurry, it is very likely you can slip by without being noticed and apparate away.”

“And you?” Harry asked with narrowed eyes. 

“The documents and plans…They are not guarded nearly heavily enough,” Albus said. 

“Then you cannot expect me to leave you behind.” 

“Harry,” Albus began. 

“No, Albus.” Harry scowled. “ _No_. And we’re wasting time arguing. They’ll only return some other time if they leave without what they want, anyway. We have to fight.” 

“Fine,” he replied, looking disgruntled. 

“How many are there?” Harry asked. 

“Usually anywhere from three to six in a group.” 

“They outnumber us, then. They’ll probably split up and enter both floors at the same time.” 

Albus nodded. “It may be a better idea for us to split up as well, and hope the element of surprise will allow us time to incapacitate most of them before they realize we are aware of them.” 

“I assume you’ll guard the study?” At his affirmation, Harry continued, “I’ll watch the hall from here. They’ll have to pass by me if they want to regroup. How long do we have?” 

“A few minutes at most,” Albus replied. “Be careful, Harry.” It was difficult to tell in the dim light, but Harry thought he had become rather pale. 

“You too,” he whispered as Albus quickly exited. 

Carefully not thinking of everything that could go wrong, he cast the Disillusionment spell on himself and patiently took up his post to the side of his open door. Everything was still as he waited. It seemed like an eternity before he saw the first flicker of movement. There were three of them, moving without sound and blending almost perfectly with the shadows. If Harry hadn’t been looking specifically for intruders he would have missed them altogether. 

The calm he always felt in life or death situations descended on him, and at once his focus was as sharp as a knife’s edge. He took in a deep breath in preparation for casting – 

And dove to the side as a streak of spell light caused the door to explode. 

“ _Protectaire Enssus_ ,” he shouted, and the next flurry of spells ricocheted of a golden shield. 

_How had they known he was there?_

_Bombarda_ , he cast silently. _Stupefy. Reducto. Expulso. Skae Marxus. Protego._ He was on the defensive more often than he would like, but he was more than holding his own against these three assassins. 

A dark purple spell clipped his left elbow and instantly went numb. 

_Shit_ , Harry cursed as he noticed the bed burning in his peripheral vision. He didn’t have a chance to put out the fire, though, as an array of multicolored light sped toward him. _How the hell do they know where I am?_ The Disillusionment Charm wasn’t perfect, of course, but in such dim light he should be near impossible to see. 

He watched them as best he could as he dodged, spun, and dove around the room. The answer was there, on the tip of his tongue. 

The desk exploded, and it was only Harry’s exceptional reflexes that had the debris speeding at two of the three assassins with lethal force. He followed it up with a wave of ice that knocked the slower one off his feet and crashed into the bed. 

One of the two still on their feet rushed him, and he caught moonlight glinting off metal. _A dagger_ , Harry thought, and a wave of his wand sent the wizard flying backwards into a wall. 

And then the wind was brutally knocked out of him as his wand was ripped from his hand. Harry scrabbled uselessly at the force that was cruelly constricting his neck. His lungs were already screaming for air as he desperately attempted the countercurse wandlessly and wordlessly. The Death Eaters had favored a curse much like the one he suffered under, but apparently this version was different enough that the countercurse he knew was ineffective. For instance, he had never before had the air forced from his lungs before being strangled. 

Harry was unable to keep from jerking and twitching, as though doing so would relieve the pressure. The edge of his vision was darkening as all three of them stood before him. Apparently the one smashed into by a wall of ice hadn’t been as incapacitated as Harry had hoped. 

The lips of the one who held the spell moved, though Harry heard no words, and the least battered assassin left the room. And suddenly, everything clicked into place. 

He whipped the Elder Wand from its hiding place and the noise of an explosion rocked through the cottage, causing the windows to rattle and his ears to ring. The pressure crushing his windpipe released, and Harry dropped to the floor as a shrill scream reached his ears, desperately gasping for breath. Forcing himself to focus despite the shooting pains in his throat, Harry quickly took in his current situation. The assassin who had been throttling him was unconscious on the floor, what looked to be blood running from his ears and nose. 

“ _Avada Kedavra_ ,” the other wizard shouted, staggering a little and looking to be in pain. 

Harry quickly summoned the unconscious man to use as a shield against the Killing Curse, and then banished the body at the caster. Before the remaining assassin could recover, he stunned and bound him.

_Ha_ , Harry thought belatedly. _So their hearing_ was _magically enhanced._

But he couldn’t stop yet. Summoning his holly wand to him, he quickly returned the Elder Wand to its usual hidden place and massaged his throat as he cast a Silencing Charm on himself. He couldn’t rest until all of the assassins were accounted for and Albus was safe. 

He stumbled down the stairs and heard the crashes and shouts coming from the study that meant the battle was still raging. Harry quickly opened the door. One of Albus’ opponents was already unconscious in a corner, and another was slumped against the far wall. The documents were out of sight, which Harry assumed meant that Albus had managed to secure and hide them. Every wall was scorched, splinters of wood and partially transfigured creatures littered the ground. Currently Albus was on the offensive, spells flying from his wand at his last opponent, who was attempting to split his attention between Albus and a transfigured tiger. He noticed that Albus was limping slightly, bleeding heavily from a wound in his thigh. 

A movement caught Harry’s attention, and he saw that the man slumped against the wall wasn’t out of the fight as he had thought. “ _Crucio_ ,” the wizard hissed hoarsely, wand pointed at Albus’ back. 

Harry didn’t even wait to see whether the spell connected or not. Flashbacks of every time he had failed his friends and family in battle ran through his mind. “ _Sectumsempra!_ ” he bellowed, and was rewarded by a spray of blood. 

“Harry?” Albus murmured tentatively when Harry didn’t look away. “Harry he’s dead. It’s over.” 

He blinked, shaking himself a little, and finally noticed that Albus’ opponent was down and the tiger had disappeared. 

“Are all of yours accounted for?” Albus asked. 

“Yes. One dead and one stunned and bound in my bedroom,” Harry replied hoarsely, grimacing as the pain in his throat made himself known now that the adrenaline was leaving him.

“Are you all right?” 

“They tried to throttle me,” he said. “I’ll probably just have a sore throat for a day or two. What about you?” 

“A mere flesh wound,” Albus reassured him. “It was deep, but I’ve managed to stop the bleeding. They weren’t aiming to kill me, not really. They wanted to capture me.” 

Harry watched him, solemn and pale. He wondered what Gellert would do if he managed to capture Albus. So many options, and he didn’t know the wizard as well as he knew Riddle. He could want anything. 

“I managed to get a message to the Aurors, so they will be here soon.” 

“Mmm. I guess I’ll go bring my two assassins down. Why don’t you go rest on the couch?” Judging by the expression on Harry’s face, that was not a suggestion. 

Albus bowed his head in acquiescence and limped into the living room.


	10. Familiar Faces

_I can feel the night beginning._   
_Separate me from the living._   
_Understanding me,_   
_After all I've seen._   
_Piecing every thought together,_   
_Find the words to make me better._   
_If I only knew how to pull myself apart._

_All that I'm living for,_   
_All that I'm dying for,_   
_All that I can't ignore alone at night._   
_All that I'm wanted for,_   
_Although I wanted more._   
_Lock the last open door, my ghosts are gaining on me._   
_-Evanescence, “All That I’m Living For”_

 

The Aurors do not arrive very quickly, and Harry wonders if that is the normal reaction time, or if Albus had sent off a message after things had been taken care of. Either way, they have time to stun the three assassins still alive again for good measure. The two dead are laid a little apart, and a sheet is wrapped around the one Harry had killed with _Sectumsempra_ , to keep the blood from further staining the floor. 

“Should we frisk them?” Harry wondered aloud. “For concealed weapons and suicide potions or pills?” 

Albus looked at him in surprise. “We’ll leave that for the Aurors. It’s what they’re trained to do.” 

Harry remembers Dawlish and his partner, and rather doubts their training against even a semi-competent opponent. If rumors were to be believed, Dawlish had spent half of his career Confunded. But, he thinks with a hint of a smile, Tonks and Kingsley had been exceptional. He wondered what sort of Auror team would show up. 

“I’m afraid that my bed is beyond even magical help,” he sighed. 

“What’s happened to it?” Albus queried. 

“What didn’t?” Harry replied wryly. “It was hexed, caught fire, crushed by a man and a block of ice, which then proceeded to melt all over it. The ice, I mean. Not the man.” 

Albus chuckled lightly, and the pair lapsed into silence. “Harry,” Albus began hesitantly when the silence began to stretch, and the younger wizard heard the beginning of a conversation in that word. 

“Yes?” he asked as he sat across from Albus, both of them keeping an eye on their incapacitated hostages. 

“The second man,” Albus said. “There was no need to kill him.” There was no condemnation or judgment in his voice, not yet, simply curiosity. 

Harry looked away. “It’s a…habit,” he said, and the worst thing is that it’s true. They didn’t dare show mercy in battle, because those who weren’t killed would recover and try to kill them again and again, even as the ranks of Voldemort’s followers increased. “I’m not used to a government willing to convict a true criminal, and a prison capable of keeping them.” Even as he spoke the words, his eyes widened a little in surprise, and he looked at the assassins with a thoughtful expression. “Wow,” he muttered. “They’ll actually be convicted and imprisoned. That’s new.” 

Albus could sense nothing but honesty from Harry on this point. It wasn’t so farfetched, really. The Nazis and Nazi supporters were committing such atrocities it made his blood run cold, and yet no government controlled by the Axis powers would arrest them. If anything, they had probably been hunting Harry. 

There was something he had noticed, though, when Harry spoke of the war. Or rather, when Harry spoke of his own participation in the war. Whenever he mentioned the horrors of what he had been involved in, he called it the Second War. Not even the Second World War. And yet, any other time he spoke in general terms, it was ‘the war’ or ‘World War II’. As though Harry had survived an entirely different conflict. 

It didn’t make sense, but his mind kept returning to that possibility. 

“I’ll try to do better,” Harry said anxiously, his voice breaking into Albus’ thoughts. 

“I know you will,” he replied with a smile. “I’m sure the Aurors would agree that it was done in self-defense.” 

“I hope so,” Harry murmured apprehensively. 

“I’m going to need to hire a team of warders,” Albus said with a frown, fingers tapping lightly on the arm of his chair. 

“This time I will be helping with the cost. No arguments,” he added when Albus moved to do just that. It would probably clean out what money he had at the moment. He supposed it was a good thing he had spent his first paycheck frugally. 

Albus nodded resignedly. “I’m sorry I brought you into this, Harry.” 

“What do you mean?” Harry asked in surprise. 

“Associating so closely with me has risks. Those wizards, for example.” He nodded toward the group on the floor. “Every once in a while Gellert likes to remind me… Well, he likes to send reminders.” 

“Albus, this is hardly in the top ten most dangerous things I have done in my life,” Harry said. He would have laughed, but he knew how the reminders of Grindelwald unsettled and upset his friend. 

Further conversation was cut short by the distant crack of Apparition. By the time Dumbledore reached the front door, the Aurors had arrived. Harry followed behind, levitating the group of assassins. He had decided that it would be a little too crowded inside if a team of Aurors were added to the count. Not to mention he was jumpy when faced with and outnumbered by potential enemies in a crowded area. He wanted room to move if he needed it. 

Three newcomers greeted him as Albus lit up the immediate area with a spell that mimicked sunlight, two older wizards and a witch who appeared to be about his age. Harry knew it was rude to stare, but there was something so familiar about the young woman. She was tall and slender, with stormy gray eyes and long black hair, tied back in a braid. There was a stubborn cast to her chin, and she regarded them seriously, but it seemed to Harry that she hid a glimmer of good humor beneath her strict façade. 

He was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he missed what the others had been discussing, a fact that Albus immediately noticed. Albus also did not fail to notice the distraction the youngest Auror caused his companion, and his heart clenched in his chest as he fought the first pangs of jealousy. 

“Kid!” the younger of the two male Aurors barked, gaining Harry’s attention. A frown flitted across his face. There was something familiar in that tone of voice…

“I’m sorry, what?” Harry rasped, shaking his head slightly and wincing at the soreness of his throat. 

“Auror Tremayne would like to hear your side of the story,” Albus said. 

Harry turned to look at the lead Auror, who was watching him calmly. This wizard, at least, was someone Harry was sure he had never set eyes on before. His light brown hair was cut short, creating natural spikes. His face was brown and weathered from time spent outdoors, and he was of average height with a powerful, muscular frame. Definitely not a wizard Harry would want to go up against without a wand. 

As concisely as possible, without missing any important details, Harry recited what had happened from the point the assassins had arrived until they had been defeated. His voice was becoming hoarse enough that the witch was looking at him with obvious concern. 

“Are you quite all right?” she asked once he was done. 

“I’ll be fine in a day or two…” he trailed off, realizing that he still didn’t know any of their names and too embarrassed about his inattention to ask outright. 

“Minerva McGonagall,” she said, reaching out to shake his hand. 

Harry managed to avoid choking, barely, but couldn’t help the dumbfounded stare. He’d had no idea that Professor McGonagall had at one time been an Auror. She looked so _young_. And pretty, he had to admit. 

“Something for you?” she snapped, a hand on her hip. The two of them shifted almost unnoticeably, so that they separated from the other three that were deep in discussion. 

“S-sorry,” he said, wincing inwardly at the glare that could stop even the Weasley twins in their tracks. “You just remind me a lot of my Transfiguration professor. Her first name was Minerva too.” _And her last name was McGonagall_ , he was tempted to say, but he didn’t, and carefully did not let his amusement show. 

“Oh.” Her expression lightened, and had she been any less proud Minerva might have looked a little sheepish. “That’s a good thing I hope.” 

“The best,” Harry said a little wistfully, and Minerva’s earlier concern returned, although for a different reason. “She died trying to give her students time to escape from a very powerful Dark Lord. I wasn’t there, but I heard about it. It became something of a legend among her friends and former students. A sight to behold. She knew that what she was doing was suicide.” Voldemort had been too much for McGonagall, Slughorn, and Shacklebolt at the Battle of Hogwarts, after all. She stood very little chance dueling him on her own.

Harry remembered when he and his friends had first heard of Professor McGonagall’s death at the hands of Voldemort. They had stumbled across a fourth year Hufflepuff attempting to escape a group of Snatchers. Once the pursuers had been dispatched, they had asked for an update on the Wizarding World. Hermione had taken McGonagall’s death the hardest, being the closest to the woman of anyone in the group, but they had all mourned. It was almost as devastating a blow for the Order of the Phoenix as Headmaster Dumbledore’s death had been. 

Harry looked at Minerva and smiled a little wistfully. “War is an ugly business.” 

“I know. Or, logically, I know, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still wish I could help where the battles are, instead of being stationed here in the UK,” the young Auror replied. She hesitated. “I don’t know if I could be as brave as your professor was, though.” 

Harry didn’t laugh, knowing that she would misinterpret it. “You would if you had to,” he said, full of confidence. 

Minerva couldn’t help but blush. He was not being condescending or falsely flattering, he spoke as if it were obvious. As if any doubt about her bravery was foreign to him. It was a lot of responsibility, she thought, but it was gratifying to be so respected. Perhaps that was why she was growing to like him so quickly. Even now, decades after women had been allowed into the Auror corp., there were many who sneered at her, looked down at her, or made suggestive comments, as though she being a woman affected how well she did her job. She refused to let those looks and comments affect her, but it was hard all the same. Harry was different. He seemed to see no difference between Minerva and her partners. He simply treated her as a person he respected. 

She only hoped he did not put too much faith in her, that he was not mistaking her for his old professor. 

“Thank you for saying so.” She glanced at Professor Dumbledore and the other two members of the Auror team out of the corner of her eye. It did not surprise her that the professor was staring at her with an intensity that had been causing goosebumps. Minerva had felt his hard stare on her back since she and Harry had first moved to the side to speak privately. She knew it wasn’t really anything to do with her, but it was still slightly unnerving since she knew he thought well of her. She had been something like his protégée when she was his student. 

“Perhaps you should reassure the professor that he has no reason to be jealous,” Minerva suggested delicately, and was met with a blank stare. 

“Wha – Albus? What would we be jealous about?” He chanced a glance at his housemate, and caught how he watched Minerva. “He…er…likes you?” Well, there had been a rumor or two about the Headmaster and the Deputy Headmistress in his time. Harry just hadn’t thought they were true. 

Minerva was so surprised by his conclusion that she burst into laughter as Harry looked on in bewilderment. “You’re completely oblivious, aren’t you?” she chortled. 

Harry scowled. “Are you going to explain what you meant?” he demanded. He was a little surprised and puzzled by the feeling of relief at how wrong he apparently was. But he still wanted to know what on earth she was referring to. 

“It’s none of my business really,” she replied. “It’s cute, though.” Minerva mockingly pinched his cheek as an elderly aunt might, and Harry slapped her hand away. 

“I’m older than you are,” he pointed out. 

“But still shorter.” 

Harry pouted, wondering where this light-hearted version of his stern Head of House had come from as they rejoined the others. Minerva was so silent that she startled the younger of the two male Aurors, and Harry wondered whether she had achieved her Animagus form yet. It would probably be useful in her line of work. 

“Well, I think we’re done here,” the head Auror said. “I don’t expect either of you will be called in to testify. This was a clear case of self defense. Auror Moody? Auror McGonagall?” 

Harry bit his lip to keep from breaking out into hysterical laughter. He hadn’t recognized Mad-Eye without half his face, his eye, and his leg missing. And the way he had jumped when surprised by Minerva’s appearance! He squashed down an overwhelming urge to bellow, “Constant Vigilance!” as the aurors Apparated away with the prisoners. Truth be told, he was a little surprised to see Moody still in the UK. Perhaps he was on some sort of leave or something. He really didn’t know much about the Auror department. 

It was nice to see Moody and McGonagall young and relatively happy, though. 

“Harry, I’m afraid Aurors Moody and Tremayne have given me some bad news,” Albus said before Harry could trudge up the stairs and borrow the second smaller guest room.

Harry paused. He didn’t like that tone of voice. It implied impending doom. 

“Tom Riddle nearly managed to escape Azkaban.” 

The blood drained from Harry’s face, leaving him ashen and light-headed. All other thoughts flew from his mind. Closing his eyes, he mentally checked the tracking charm he had placed on Riddle, and saw that it remained in the direction of the prison. Feeling slightly better, he licked his lips, and managed to croak, “How?” 

Albus, by now, was looking rather alarmed at Harry’s state. “No one knows. It was something to do with the Dementors guarding his cell, they believe. The Ministry was suitably panicked by the near-successful attempt, and sequestered him in one of the highest security cells, designed to completely suppress his magical ability and monitored regularly by both Dementors and human wardens.” 

Shit. _Shit._ Oh God, he was taking too long learning to become an Animagus, and it had nearly cost him everything. It was entirely possible that once out of the prison, Riddle would have been able to disappear completely, until he had acquired the horrible persona of Lord Voldemort. And then it would be too late. 

“Harry!” The touch on his shoulder brought Harry’s thoughts back to the present with a jerk. 

“I’m sorry Albus, what did you say?” he asked with a tremulous attempt at normalcy. 

Albus watched him concernedly before speaking. “What is it about Tom Riddle that frightens you so? When faced with a group of assassins you hardly even flinch, yet the mention of Riddle’s near escape has you terrified.” 

“It’s…it’s about what he could become, Albus.” Harry shuddered. “The evil he could and would commit if given half the chance, the power he would have. His potential scares me.” 

The older wizard looked at him for a long moment before nodding. “Here. There’s something you should take before going to bed.” Fishing out a vial of clear liquid from a nearby cabinet, he held it out to Harry. “I always keep some of Fawkes’ tears around in case of an emergency. I think you’ll be more comfortable if your throat is healed.” 

At the mention of the phoenix, Harry suddenly realized that Fawkes had returned from wherever he went when he wasn’t with Albus. “Hey Fawkes. I didn’t realize you were back.” 

The phoenix sang apologetically, and Harry brushed a finger along his warm feathers before downing the tears. “Good night,” he said, throat already being healed. 

“Sleep well,” Albus replied. “We’ll need our energy to repair everything tomorrow morning.” 

 

It took most of the next day to get everything cleaned up and to fix what could be fixed. They took a break around lunchtime for Albus to seek out a warding team to update the wards around the cottage. Harry sent a note with him for Gringotts, along with a sample of blood to prove he was the owner of the vault Albus was to withdraw from. That was how he had opened an account with Gringotts in the first place, using his injuries an excuse to keep him away from the bank. Harry knew that he was being completely irrational, but he feared that the goblins would somehow be able to recognize that he had attempted and mostly succeeded in stealing from the bank. He knew he was being foolish, that there was no way for them to know, that it hadn’t even happened yet and probably never would. But that didn’t prevent him from sending Albus in his stead if it wasn’t inconvenient for the wizard. 

The visit from the Aurors, in particular the parting words of Auror Tremayne, had gotten Harry thinking about his lack of paperwork. He had kept putting it off for later until he had mostly forgotten about it. He had vaguely decided on using the excuse that his documents had been destroyed in the war along with the building that housed them, which was true, but perhaps it would be best to take preventative measures. It would certainly make it less likely for him to be denounced as an enemy or spy, or something, should his luck fail him. 

The problem was deciding whether to go the legal route or not in the creation of his paperwork. Forged documents were expensive, and it would be difficult to track down someone who dealt with such things. It would mean waiting until the next sale of basilisk parts, and it would probably clean out his account. He wasn’t comfortable spending months without a knut to his name. Although he supposed with his forged documents he would be able to find a job and stave off poverty. He didn’t want to end up as a clerk in Knockturn Alley or something. 

On the other hand, petitioning the ministry to create documents that had been lost carried less risk. So long as he plotted out his story carefully, he could misdirect the official without outright lying. He would ask for a powerful truth spell to be cast immediately, rather than waiting for the officials to make a request that could lead to him ingesting Veritaserum. If he poured his considerable magic into his Occlumency shields at the right time, he could lie without setting off the spell. And he would inevitably have to lie, when they asked what school he had attended. He had flooded his shields before before, and thankfully that particular trick had more to do with power than skill. He’d have to check his memory of his O.W.L. results in a Pensieve before submitting it, to make sure the date wasn’t apparent, but the scenario seemed doable. 

Yes, the legal route seemed to best choice in this case. More questions, but less chance of being arrested or worse. With the war going on, and with Albus Dumbledore’s reputation backing him, even before his defeat of Grindelwald, his story shouldn’t be looked at too closely. 

Harry felt a little guilty thinking of Albus’ help in such cold, calculating terms, but there was no denying that it was helpful. And he would never take advantage of Albus’ trust. 

Albus didn’t seem as surprised as Harry thought he ought to be about the request to apply for new paperwork, but he didn’t let it bother him. An appointment was made for the end of August, and Harry was determined not to obsess over it until a week before he was to be questioned. 

During the rest of the summer holidays, Harry threw himself into his Animagus studies, making a prodigious amount of progress in a short time. He only took a break when he decided that Albus had been working much too hard. It wasn’t uncommon for him to completely forget to emerge for lunch or dinner. More than once Harry had found him asleep in his newly repaired study. 

Harry’s solution was to pack a basket of food and order, plead, and bribe Albus into having a picnic out back under the trees. When that failed, he had sighed and reluctantly told Albus that it was his birthday and the present he would most like was for Albus to stop working himself so hard and have lunch with him. He supposed it was a lucky coincidence that it actually was his birthday. 

Albus had been chagrined, and Harry was forced to fend off offers of birthday presents or a cake. 

“This is the best birthday I can ever remember having,” Harry said solemnly. It was nice and peaceful, he wasn’t being tormented by his relatives, and no one was dying. What more could he ask for?

 

“Why isn’t this working?” Harry growled under his breath, as he tried once again to put himself into the mindset of a wolf. He _needed_ to transform. Now. 

“Harry, calm down. Getting frustrated and trying to force it is just going to make things more difficult,” Albus said soothingly.

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes. “You’re right. One more try and then we can stop.” He closed his eyes and thought. He could picture a wolf perfectly, but it wasn’t helping. _All right. Let’s try something else._

Harry pictured Remus in his mind, and sorted through memories of the man. He had tried this before, but perhaps he needed to go more in depth. _To a werewolf, pack is everything. The alpha leads. It would probably be the same with a normal wolf. So...what is everything to me?_

Tentatively, he immersed himself in memories and emotions, looking for his pack. He remembered Teddy again, tentatively prodding at the memory as one would a wound that hadn’t completely healed. Harry took a deep breath, reigned in his fear, and plunged; abandoned coherent thought and simply _felt_. 

_The wolf isn’t a separate being. I am the wolf. The wolf is me._

And it clicked. 

Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Luna. The twins. 

_My pack._

Moony. 

_Former alpha._

Teddy. 

_My cub._

Albus. 

_My ------- ._

Harry paused. _What?_ he asked his wolf/himself. _Albus is my what?_

But the phrase wasn’t repeated, and Harry’s human mind was swept along with the transformation. 

He came to himself with a jolt, and found the world changed. His eyesight was murky and gray, but the sounds! The smells! He ought to find his body a strange place, but the instinct was strong, his movements sure and graceful. 

Harry tipped back his muzzle and howled his triumph.


	11. Breaking and Entering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify, Harry is completely dense, but not a complete idiot. The panic upon hearing that Riddle had nearly escaped caused him to completely forget about Minerva’s teasing and implications. Harry and Albus won’t get together until much later. Sorry to anyone who is getting impatient.

_Thou art the unanswered question;_   
_Couldst see thy proper eye,_   
_Alway it asketh, asketh;_   
_And each answer is a lie._   
_-Ralph Waldo Emerson, “The Sphinx”_

 

_I wonder that religion can live or die on the strength of a faint, stirring breeze. The scent trail shifts, causing the predator to miss the pounce. One god draws in the breath of life and rises; another god expires._   
_-“Adah,” The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver_

 

“Well done,” Albus beamed. “Oh, very well done. Can you understand me, Harry?” He was cautious, in case the wolf mind was dominant. It happened sometimes, that the human mind was pushed to the side with the first few Animagus transformations, but he hadn’t thought it likely with Harry. Harry was not one who would easily be controlled by anything, not even the Imperius Curse, as the younger wizard had once let slip. 

The wolf bobbed its head in an awkward, very human-like motion. His fur was a dark gray, almost black, and his eyes remained a brilliant green. His tail moved and a glass figurine fell to the ground and shattered. With a startled yip, the Animagus skittered forward, ears flat against his head and tail held low and still. 

Albus laughed, and repaired the figurine with a flick of his wand before levitating it back to its original place. “No harm done, Harry,” he said, smiling benignly at the other’s low growl of embarrassment. He reached out his hand and stroked the soft fur of the wolf’s head. Harry’s eyes grew heavy and he leaned into the touch, his tail wagging slowly. It felt so nice he could have spent hours like this. Unfortunately, Albus stepped away after a short time. 

“Can you move all right? Does anything feel awkward or uncomfortable?” Albus asked. 

Harry walked around the house, keen nose sniffing the air and cataloging the myriad scents that abounded in the house. The working of his body, four legs, tail, and sensitive ears, felt entirely natural to him. He tried loping carefully around the ground floor, and when that felt fine, practiced jumping up and down the stairs. He stumbled a bit with the last, and might have bruised a shoulder, but over all he was very satisfied. 

“Now,” said Albus once Harry had settled down, “your final test. Remember that to return to your original form, you must remind yourself what it is to be human.” 

It wasn’t as easy as Harry thought it would be. For one panicked moment he couldn’t remember what it was like to be human, or perhaps some part of him didn’t want to remember. Whichever it was, he still found himself shooting up on two legs much faster than he had shrunk down to four. 

Harry realized now what Sirius had meant when he said his Animagus form had dulled his emotions. He clutched at his chest, the pain of his tragedies sharp and sudden in his first instant as a human. 

“Harry?” Albus murmured softly, worried. 

“I’m fine,” he replied, straightening and forcing a smile. He was no worse than he had ever been. 

Albus let it go for the moment and forced a smile. “I believe you might be one of the quickest to learn the Animagus transformation. You were very driven.”

There was something too knowing in his gaze, and Harry hoped the older wizard didn’t have more than a vague idea of what had motivated him to push himself so hard. 

“All that you need to do now is to practice slipping into a wolf’s state of mind until the change is almost instantaneous. But for the rest of the day, why don’t you take a break?” It was phrased as a suggestion, but Harry could tell it was more of an order. 

With the first transformation done, Harry learning to do so instantaneously and with little effort had not taken long at all. In order to make sure that the form felt comfortable and natural, he had taken to running daily around the property in his wolf form. In the evenings he would sometimes curl up in the living room, and on rare occasions he would be joined by Albus, who chuckled at the contented sounds he made when scratched behind his soft ears. Harry knew this peace couldn’t last, his past had taught him that, so he savored the quiet moments when the only people who seemed to exist in the world were Albus and himself. 

Which was not to say that Harry wasn’t tense and impatient at times. It was one thing to decide that he would wait until after applying for papers before making a trip to Azkaban. Harry didn’t want to tempt fate with a criminal offense right before being questioned by a government official with a truth spell. It was, however, quite another thing to follow through with the resolution. Luckily, Albus was often busy or out of the house, and so Harry generally managed to keep from venting his frustrations on the wizard. If he didn’t tire himself with running around as a wolf, he would pour his concentration and energy into practicing spells or perfecting the wards that he would be setting up around Riddle’s cell. 

The week before he was to be questioned by an official, he focused his attentions on predicting what questions he would be asked, how many he could answer with misleading truths, and how many would require him to flat out lie. He couldn’t risk writing anything down, so he reviewed his altered history again and again until he was reasonably sure that there were no inconsistencies, and that he would not come off as a suspicious character. 

When the morning of his appointment arrived, Albus offered to accompany him to the Ministry, having needed to drop by and speak with one of the Department Heads anyway. Although Harry’s expression was neutral, his body fairly hummed with nerves and it didn’t help that the last time he had been in the Ministry he had been ‘Public Enemy #1’. He was half expecting to be forced to make a desperate and dramatic escape once again. 

Harry really had to stop thinking like that, though. He hoped the official was not nearly as perceptive as Albus, although he was of the opinion that _no one_ was as perceptive of Albus. At the very least, he doubted a mere official would be able to sense the power build-up when he gathered his magic to flood his Occlumency shields. The average wizard seemed to depend almost completely on their spells, anyway. So long as he or she ascertained that the truth spell was working in the beginning, they probably wouldn’t give a second thought to whether or not it could be tampered with. The fact that Harry was almost completely unknown and looked so young would work in his favor as well. 

Part of the reason that he was still alive was that he was consistently underestimated, after all. 

The room he was led to was small and Spartan, containing only a simple table and two wooden chairs. The walls were empty save for a portrait of some unknown yet important Ministry figure that was presently passed out drunk. 

Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair, reviewing his history as he waited for the session to begin. 

Five minutes later he heard the sound of approaching footsteps and sat up straight, wanting more than anything to get the questioning over with. 

An older, balding man with droopy eyes, looking more than slightly out of shape, entered the room, levitating a stack of parchments in front of him. “Right,” he mumbled, immediately moving his wand in the complicated patterns required for an extremely powerful truth spell. “Let’s get started.” As if he had been the one waiting, instead of Harry. Harry also noticed that he had completely ignored the common courtesy of at least giving his name. That was fine. This was purely business, and Harry had no real desire to know who this wizard was anyway. That way he felt less guilty about lying. 

“Lie to me,” the man said distractedly, without looking at him. 

“Um…My hair is blonde,” Harry said lamely. 

The softly glowing orb violently flashed red, blinding Harry who had been foolishly staring right at it. 

“Ngh,” he muttered, blinking his eyes rapidly. 

“Right. Name?” 

“Harry Potter.” Harry had thought long and hard about acquiring a new name, and had decided instead that it was best to stick with what he knew. He planned to cast a very specific confundus/obscuring charm on where his last name was written in the records, anyway. He wasn’t ready to be anything but ‘just Harry.’ One day, maybe, but not yet. 

The wizard looked up at him, showing some interest for the first time. “Of the pureblood Potter family?” 

Harry shook his head. The spell only reacted to verbal responses. “Potter is a common Muggle name. All of my relatives died, and I was more or less a Muggleborn.” 

That lost interest quickly. Good. 

“Date of birth?” 

“24 years ago on July 31.” 

“Parents’ names and occupation?” 

“Jim and Lilly Potter,” Harry replied. It felt a little strange to refer to his father as Jim instead of James, even if one was a shortened version of the other. “They died when I was one, and my aunt and uncle hated anything to do with magic, so I never knew much about them.” 

“Place of birth?” 

Harry bit his lip. “London, I think.” 

The official looked at him woodenly. Apparently they weren’t used to someone so ill-informed about themselves. Harry shoved away the beginnings of anger. It was hardly his fault that he’d been orphaned as a child and no one had seen fit to inform him of who he was and who his parents had been. 

“Do you know the name of the hospital or midwife who delivered you?” 

“No. It might have been a Muggle hospital,” he added in order to solidify the impression that he was a Muggleborn and in no way connected to any prominent purebloods. Actually he thought he had probably been born in St. Mungo’s, but no one had ever said anything about it to him, for which he was now grateful. 

A long-suffering sigh as the wizard returned his attention to the stack of parchment. 

“Have you ever been convicted of a crime?” 

“No.” Not for lack of trying, though, Harry thought wryly.

Several generic questions later the wizard asked for the details of Harry’s schooling. 

“My relatives hated magic, and me by association. They refused to pay tuition or have anything to do with my magical schooling. Actually, they did their best to keep me from getting any sort of magical education at all.” 

The time-traveler withheld a grimace and shoved his magic into his Occlumency shields. This was where he began lying through his teeth and hoped to God that the lie detector didn’t go off. 

“I was lucky enough to stumble upon a tutoring group. Mrs. Figg was an old woman, but she knew quite a bit about magic and had a lot of books around her house. There were only a handful of us, since most children ended up going to one of the magical schools. We weren’t up to standards, of course, since the thing was so informal, but it was better than nothing. Several years ago my uncle accepted a job transfer to France, and although I didn’t stay long enough the learn the language, I did manage to take my O.W.L.s at the French Ministry. Unfortunately, the Ministry building was nearly destroyed in the war, my test scores along with it. I have a Pensieve memory that can be used, though?” 

Harry passed a vial of silvery fluid across the table. He had chosen the memory very carefully, making sure it was an instant where the date was not visible and the signature had been slightly blurred so it was difficult to read the name. 

The questioner tapped it twice with his wand and it disappeared. “The memory will be reviewed and a decision made before this interview is over,” he explained disinterestedly. 

The questions continued and he mixed together truth and lies, touching lightly upon his supposed escape from the war on the Continent and declaring that he held no allegiance to either Adolf Hitler or Gellert Grindelwald. He gave Albus’ cottage as his current address, stated that he was considering taking his N.E.W.T.s in a year or two, and informed the man that he was currently unemployed. 

As the interview wound down, Harry found himself assaulted with a vicious headache. Having never flooded his Occlumency shields for so long, he wondered if that might be the cause. It had never occurred to him before that there might be side effects, but it made sense. 

It was with great relief that he saw the official put down his quill at last. Harry twitched when the stack of parchments disappeared, but relaxed minutely when an official-looking folder popped into existence. He could hardly believe his luck when the other man pushed it across to him and told him to review the paperwork. Surreptitiously withdrawing the Elder Wand, he quickly confounded the Ministry official and then obscured wherever his last name appeared. 

“It’s fine,” Harry said, passing the file back. 

The official still looked somewhat dazed, even though Harry had caste a Finite to hurry his return to awareness. Three taps of the other wizard’s wand and, as he explained, the paperwork was automatically filed. 

Sometimes, Harry thought as he exited the Ministry, he could really love how quickly magic could get things done. Even more, he was glad that he had not been forced on the run from the Ministry yet again. 

 

Late summer and still the weather around the island prison was cold, grey, and wet. Harry shivered, his cloak damp from the ocean spray, faint screams playing in his mind as he determinedly tried to ignore the presence of the hordes of dementors. 

He had a wand in each hand. Really, fooling the wards of Azkaban was a job for more than one person, but he had practiced wand movements and pronunciation in the privacy of the woods and it helped that he had two wands. 

In Harry’s left hand was the Elder Wand. He pressed it to the weathered stone of the fortress and cast a spell of silencing, using sheer power rather than finesse to soothe the alarms. He wielded his holly and phoenix feather wand in his right hand, tracing elaborate designs in the air and chanting under his breath to draw aside a small part of the wards like a curtain. 

There was an audible click when the iron door opened. 

Quickly, Harry sheathed his wands and slipped inside, making sure to leave the door ever so slightly ajar. Should he need to make a fast escape, he would prefer not to have to fight with the exit. 

Sucking in a deep breath, Harry transformed into his wolf form, sighed with relief as the affects of the dementors faded, and at last set out. His nails, he noticed right away, made a slight tapping sound against the stone floor. He would have to listen hard so he would know when any of the human wardens approached his position. He wasn’t too worried about being noticed by the inmates; most of them were out of their minds, and the guards wouldn’t pay any attention to their ramblings if the convicts even noticed Harry. 

Harry followed his mental map of Azkaban, pausing at any crossroads to be sure he was going in the right direction. He wasn’t sure exactly which cell Tom Riddle occupied, but he knew the general area the almost-Dark Lord would be in. Had he known Riddle’s scent, it might not have been so difficult. 

The wolf Animagus was extremely lucky. Although patrols passed near him three times, he crouched in the shadows, his dark coat camouflaging him so that the Aurors didn’t see him. The constant screaming had him whimpering involuntarily at first, but by the time making noise became dangerous he had become used to the torturous sounds. 

Harry almost didn’t recognize Riddle when he saw him. It wasn’t just the wolf’s vision. The thin, angular, aristocratic young man had lost more weight and sleep than he could afford. His hair was tangled and greasy, his skin paler than ever, and his eyes glittered with madness and defeat. This was it. Tom Riddle had given up. Lord Voldemort would never exist. 

But just to be certain…

This block of cells was fairly private, and so Harry didn’t worry overly much about returning to his human form. He began casting warding spells, layering them one on top of the other. Harry would take no chances with the future of his friends and family. 

He was halfway done and in a cold sweat as he felt the effects of the dementors pressing down on him when Tom noticed him at last. 

“You!” he screamed and leaped for the bars, howling and spitting with rage. 

Harry was so shocked he nearly cut off mid-spell. This was an entirely different sort of madness than he was used to the other displaying. This was mindless and animalistic, instead of calculating, homicidal rage.

Tom yanked at the bars as if he could bend them with his bare hands, and then attempted to stick his arm between the bars and claw his eyes out. Fortunately, one of the added wards prevented anything from slipping through the bars on the prisoner’s side. 

Harry gritted his teeth. Dementors were approaching. Most likely they had sensed his presence, as screaming fits were commonplace in Azkaban. Only a little more, he encouraged himself. Almost done. 

He sagged against the wall for a moment, knees weak. He had used so much energy doing this. 

No time. The screaming in his head was reaching almost unbearable levels. Quickly tagging Tom between the eyes with an Obliviate, he transformed into his Animagus form and ran down a nearby hall, a split second too late. One of the regular wizard patrols had also just rounded the far corner and caught a glimpse of his movement. 

_No!_ he shouted mentally to himself. _Shit! Damn! No!_

No one had caught a clear glimpse of the intruder, but they were taking no chances. The alarms sounded twice as loud to his wolf ears as he sprinted the way he had come. Even then he heard running feet heading straight for him and he was forced to swerve down a random corridor. Things were happening too quickly for Harry to keep to his mental map, and before long his human mind was hopelessly lost. 

His wolf instincts, thankfully, have a much better sense of direction, and after several twists and turns, dodging Aurors and dementors, he picked up the scent of his original trail, and sprinted for the exit as though the devil itself was on his heels. 

_Fuck, this is going to hurt_ , he thought, not daring to show his human face here in this hell on earth, and lowered his head to charge the door. 

Pain exploded across his skull as the door flew open, and although the impact dazed him, the plunge into the stormy sea revived him, like a shock to the senses. Thankfully, there was no blood to worry about anyone finding. 

_That could have gone better_ , Harry thought as he paddled around to the blind side of the fortress. He panted as he treaded water, psyching himself up to return to his human. It would be much colder without fur, and he wouldn’t be a very good swimmer, but it was too dangerous to remain so close to Azkaban right now. 

In an instant he was human and his muscles almost seized up at the sudden cold. Almost faster than thought, he Disillusioned himself and summoned his borrowed and invisible broom. Once he was in the air he dried and warmed himself before heading south, praying that there wouldn’t be any ill effects from this latest adventure. 

Except for the nightmares. Those would be inevitable, he knew. 

With any luck, this would be the last time in his life that he would set foot in Azkaban.


	12. Return to Hogwarts

_You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can not fool all of the people all of the time._   
_-Abraham Lincoln_

_All human beings should try and learn before they die_   
_what they are running from, and to, and why._   
_-James Thurber_

 

Albus, thankfully, hadn’t woken to discover Harry gone, or he would have been waiting to confront him about his disappearance. He would also likely be some combination of worried and angry should he see Harry’s appearance. His hands were trembling so violently that he was barely able to fit the key into the lock, his lips were likely blue from the cold, and no matter how he tried to calm himself, he knew his eyes were wide and panicked. Faint screams still echoed in his mind, pulsing with the throbbing in his head, and there were moments when he just couldn’t catch his breath. 

Chocolate. He needed chocolate. 

As quietly as he could, Harry ransacked the cupboards for candy bars, and choked three of them down before he felt a little more like himself. He really needed to stop running into dementors if he ever wanted to like chocolate again. 

He sighed tiredly and ran a hand through his hair, wincing as the touch sent a bolt of pain through his brain. Ouch. Running headfirst into a large door, never mind it hadn’t been fully closed, was not one of the smartest things he had ever done in his life. On the other hand, he thought as he quietly rummaged through the potions cabinet for a headache potion, it wasn’t one of the stupidest either. 

Harry closed his eyes briefly in relief at the alleviation of his headache and at last made his way upstairs and to his room. He paused in the hallway outside of his room and glanced at Albus’ closed bedroom door. Held close to his heart was the memory of being curled up against Albus’ side, the man’s presence rendering his sleep deep and dreamless. Harry was so _tired_ of waking up screaming or crying or shaking, tired of being afraid, tired of the dead, tired of not getting enough sleep. If he slept with Albus, the nightmares wouldn’t trouble him…

But no. He could never ask such a thing of the other wizard. Albus had done so much for him, more than he needed to. And it was embarrassing besides. And awkward. 

No, Harry would do as he had always done. He would survive. His nightmares wouldn’t kill him. 

His hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palm, and he punched his thigh in frustration. He had been getting better! Albus’ cottage and presence made him feel safe and cared for. The nightmares had been growing milder and less frequent. Now he was back to square one. 

Harry reluctantly lay down on his bed, closed his eyes, and gave in to his exhaustion. 

His screaming woke him up only a few hours later. He threw back the covers, sat up, and buried his head in his hands. Harry was panting as though he had run a mile, and his head was beginning to throb again. 

It hadn’t been a memory this time, simply based on the memory of Tom’s current insanity. The presence of the dementors, it seemed, had wreaked havoc on the aspiring Dark Lord’s already unstable mind, and he had few defenses against the dementors’ presence this early in his life. In Harry’s nightmare Tom had once again screamed at him, clawed at his eyes, only suddenly Albus had appeared in the cell, and Tom had ripped him apart as Harry watched, unable to move. 

_I will protect you, Albus_ , Harry vowed. He didn’t think he would survive if Albus died and left him alone in this time that was not his own. 

He sighed and stood, making his way out of his room and down the stairs to the kitchen. It was too early for him to take another potion for his headache, but hot chocolate would help relax him. Flipping on the kitchen light, he quietly extracted a pan, milk, and cocoa mix from the cupboards and set to work. It was simple, but it kept his mind occupied and he was yawning with fatigue by the time he rinsed out the pan and sat down with his drink.

That was where Albus found him some hours later, slumped over the table with a nearly empty mug of cold cocoa at his elbow. Nightmares, the professor thought, taking in his housemate’s unhealthy pallor, the tension in his frame, and the dark circles under his eyes. He didn’t have the heart to wake him, and so set to making breakfast. 

Harry woke with a groan, his headache having turned into what felt like a jackhammer slamming against his skull. “Too bright,” he moaned, squinting at Albus who had just set a plate of pancakes on the table. 

Albus paused and frowned. “Have you been drinking?” He didn’t think he had ever seen Harry with alcohol, but it looked like he suffered from a hangover. 

“No,” Harry mumbled, wincing and wishing that Albus wouldn’t talk so loud. “Too dangerous. Gonna get yourself killed ‘f you can’t think ‘n’ move right. Woulda bin nice to forget, though. Even ‘Mione woulda gone for it, I think.” 

“‘Mione as in Hermione?” Albus queried. 

“Mmm.” Harry made a motion that might have been a nod. 

“Who else was in your group of friends? I believe you mentioned a Ron before as well.” 

“Yeah. And Luna, Neville, ‘n’ Ginny.” Harry couldn’t concentrate. His head was killing him. 

Not wanting to take too much advantage of Harry’s state, and hoping whatever was happening wasn’t too serious, Albus asked, “What happened? Are you ill?” 

“Um.” Harry thought back, racking his brain. He had taken a potion only a few hours ago to cure the headache resulting from running headfirst into a door. 

Oh. 

“I took a headache potion last night,” Harry moaned a bit more distinctly than he had been. The blow must have really scrambled his brain if it didn’t occur to him that he might have a concussion. Headache potions were meant for headaches only. When taken by someone with a concussion it provided temporary relief, followed by intense migraines. 

Albus was quick on the uptake, and surveyed him with narrowed eyes. “And how on earth did you manage to give yourself a concussion?” 

“…Ran into a door?” Harry said weakly. 

“How?”

“It was dark and I was in a bit of a hurry.” 

“Without waking me up?” 

Harry chose to hide his head in his arms rather than answer. 

Albus sighed. “Are you hungry?” he asked as he summoned a plate and pushed the pancakes closer to him. 

“Thank you,” the young man responded. 

They ate in silence, Albus choosing to read the Daily Prophet rather than talk to keep from causing Harry undue pain. Hidden behind the pages of the newspaper, he did not notice the younger wizard straighten and examine the front page closely. 

Silently, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed that the news of a break-in at Azkaban was being kept secret from the general public. There wouldn’t have been much to report in any case, as no escape was attempted by any convicts, and none of the patrols had gotten a good look at his Animagus form. It was one less thing to worry about in any case. 

“Why don’t you go lie down on the couch?” Albus suggested softly when Harry could no longer withhold a whimper of pain. “Try to get some more sleep, and maybe you’ll feel better. Don’t worry about the dishes.” 

“Thanks,” Harry said with a wan smile and moved to follow his advice. It was early yet, and the living room would remain cool until some time around noon when the weather grew hotter. He sprawled across the couch, an arm thrown over his eyes to keep out the light, and tried to relax enough to doze. 

Albus entered the room only a few minutes later and absently twitched his wand at the windows, causing the curtains to snap shut on the morning sunlight. He leaned against the couch and gently moved Harry’s arm. “Here,” he said, placing a cool, damp cloth over his companion’s closed eyes. “This will probably help. I will be in my study if you need anything.” 

Harry’s hand shot out and grasped his wrist before he could leave. “I’m sorry,” he said miserably. 

“For what?” Albus asked. 

Harry was silent. “Everything,” he said eventually. 

“I am happy to have you living with me, Harry,” said the older wizard. He hesitated, and his heart skipped a beat. “I…” The words caught in his throat. He couldn’t say it. “I wish you would tell me more, but I won’t push you,” Albus said instead. 

“Thank you,” Harry said quietly and let him go. “Don’t forget to take breaks and eat.” 

Albus’ lips quirked up in a half smile. “All right,” he said as he left the room. 

Harry slept deeper than he meant to and completely forgot to put up any silencing charms. For the second time that day he screamed himself awake, dreaming this time of the streets of Hogsmeade awash in blood, the rubble still burning like hellfire. 

The crack of Apparition as Albus appeared, wand at the ready, startled Harry so violently that he fell off the couch. The wild, panicked look faded from Albus’ blue eyes as he took in the situation, replaced with concern. 

“Nightmare?” he asked gently as he stowed away his wand. 

“Y-yeah,” Harry said shakily, running a hand through his untamable hair. “Sorry for disturbing you.” 

“Harry, I would much prefer to be ‘disturbed’ as you put it, rather than let you go through this alone. How long has this been going on?” 

“It’s been much better recently. I think because you’re around,” Harry said, forcing himself to meet the other wizard’s gaze even as he blushed red in embarrassment. “I just had a relapse today. That’s all.” 

“What caused this relapse?” Albus asked. 

“Probably something to do with my migraine,” Harry replied, unable to bring himself to outright lie to Albus, but also unwilling to tell the full truth. 

As he did so often these days when it concerned Harry, Albus let it go. “It’s almost dinner time,” he said. “Do you have any preference?” 

The other shook his head. “I’m fine with anything, really,” he said as he stood. “My head feels a lot better. Why don’t I help you in the kitchen?” 

 

Albus fell just a little more in love with Harry every time they spent time together

Perhaps others would think him foolish for trusting someone so suspicious, for allowing his attraction for someone he knew nothing about to flourish. But Albus had learned his lesson last time, with Gellert. He did not allow infatuation to blind him. He may know very little about Harry’s background, and he hadn’t even the faintest idea what Harry’s last name was, but he knew who Harry was. He knew the kind of person Harry was, even if he knew little about what had made him that person. 

Albus hadn’t thought he would ever get so close to anyone after Gellert Grindelwald, had in fact been determined not to. But Harry was everything Gellert wasn’t. He was dark in his looks where the German had been fair, kind and compassionate where the other had been cold and calculating, humble rather than arrogant. Harry had been a victim of horrors and it had made him strong in many ways, but fragile in others. Gellert, as he was now, perpetuated horrors and atrocities. Harry would sacrifice himself for others in a heartbeat if it was required, while Gellert would save himself first. 

Albus was not blind to Harry’s flaws, either. He may not be actively suicidal, but he didn’t precisely believe his health to be all that important either. He was so stubborn that he would hurt himself trying to do what he believed to be more necessary than taking care of himself. He lied, even knowing that Albus could see through most of his lies he lied all the same, and it pained him that Harry felt it necessary. He had a temper. 

He always said, “I’m fine,” and rarely ever was. 

 

The last of the summer vacation passed quietly. Harry recovered from Azkaban and came to the terms with at last defeating Voldemort a.k.a. Tom Riddle. He had spent almost his entire life fighting the Dark Lord, and now that he was done, he felt adrift, purposeless. Just as he wasn’t used to a life no longer on the run, he wasn’t used to this sense of idleness. That Albus had spent most of the last several days out of the house doing only Merlin knew what had not helped. Harry could understand better why Mrs. Weasley had taken to carrying the family clock around, even with all hands firmly stuck on mortal peril. The minute something changed with Albus, who was possibly doing something dangerous, Harry wanted to know. 

The week before September 1st, the start of the new school year, Albus and Harry had packed up everything they would need at Hogwarts and closed up the cottage. Much to Harry’s consternation, rather than Apparition Albus had chosen to Floo to the Headmaster’s office, the only fireplace in the castle that allowed both incoming and outgoing connections with the permission of the current Headmaster. 

“Something wrong?” Albus queried, arching an eyebrow at Harry’s expression as he uncovered the Floo powder. 

“This is only one of _the_ worst methods of transportation,” Harry grimaced with distaste. 

“It’s hardly as bad as all that,” Albus said amused. He almost wished he could take the words back at the glint in his companion’s eye. 

“All right,” Harry said agreeably, his smile not at all reassuring. “Why don’t you go first and I’ll come through after you.” 

Eyeing Harry a little apprehensively, he did so. The fire flared green and he stated clearly, “Hogwarts, Headmaster’s Office.” 

“Welcome back, Albus,” Armando said cheerfully from behind his desk. “How was your summer?” 

Albus emerged gracefully from the fireplace and moved to give Harry space to come through. “It was…” he began, only to be interrupted by a small form shooting from the Floo and crashing solidly into him. They went down in a tangle of limbs, and lay there stunned at the impact. 

Harry looked down at Albus from his position on top of him and couldn’t help it. He threw his head back and laughed. “The look on your face,” he gasped, and buried his face in Albus’ chest in an effort to muffle his helpless laughter. 

“Dear Merlin, son,” Headmaster Dippet said, astonished. “Did you take a running start into the Floo?” 

“I’ve always had trouble with the Floo,” Harry explained between chuckles. “It just doesn’t like me.” 

“All right,” Albus relented, amused himself. “You made your point. Next time we can Apparate.” 

“That would probably be safer,” Armando mused with a smile. 

“That’s right,” Harry sighed as he scrambled off of his housemate and reached down to give him a hand up. “Make fun of me and my inabilities.” 

“Speaking of abilities,” Albus began and shot Dippet a look. 

“Ah, yes. Albus suggested to me that, having proved how adept you are at Defense, you might be willing to assist Professor Galatea Merrythought in her classes and tutor any student who needs it. I spoke with her this summer, and she admitted that with the current clime a competent assistant would be welcome.” 

Harry, by this time, was staring wide-eyed at the Headmaster. “Are you serious?” he breathed. 

“Very,” Armando confirmed. 

Harry hadn’t given much thought to an actual career beyond making sure that he had the paperwork ready. He couldn’t stand to do nothing, but he hadn’t been sure what he wanted to do, aside from practicing his dueling and spellcasting. He remembered how he felt teaching the DA, how proud of them he had been when they had mastered something difficult, how fun it had been to be helping them become better witches and wizards. Teaching was something he could do, and if the things he taught them helped save even one life, then it was worth it. He had a purpose once again.

“I would love to,” he said eagerly. 

“Wonderful.” Dippet smiled. “As we haven’t conducted any formal interviews or anything of a usual process, your first two weeks will be a trial basis. Should everything go well, you will be considered a member of the faculty, and you will need to read and sign a contract. In addition to room and board you will be given a small wage, less than the full-time professors. Your room in Albus’ quarters is still available should you choose to return there, or else we have a number of available rooms throughout the castle.” 

Harry bit his lip. He could live alone – he was more than old enough and had all the necessary skills to do so – but he didn’t want to. He liked Albus’ company, liked knowing that there was someone he could trust nearby. He liked the feeling that he wasn’t alone in the world. The problem was he didn’t want to impose on Albus. Surely he had taken too much advantage of Albus’ hospitality already. 

Albus seemed to sense his hesitation and also the reason behind it. “I would be happy if you were to continue living with me, Harry. But I won’t be offended if you decided against it.” 

“If you’re sure,” Harry said. 

Albus nodded. 

“Then I will return to my old room,” Harry said. “Thank you very much for this opportunity. I am grateful, and I won’t let you down.” 

“Good,” said Armando. “Sometime within the next few days you may wish to seek out Galatea and discuss the curriculum and your duties.” 

“I will. Thank you.” 

Albus and Harry exited the Headmaster’s office. Once they were past the gargoyle that guarded it, Harry turned to his fellow professor. “You suggested this?” he asked, giving him a grateful look. 

“I did,” Albus acknowledged. 

Harry surprised both of them by throwing himself at the older wizard and hugging him tightly. “Thank you,” he whispered fervently. 

Albus smiled gently and returned the embrace. Harry rarely initiated contact, though he seemed to savor it when it occurred.


	13. Part-Time Professor

_Yet ah! why should they know their fate?_   
_Since sorrow never comes too late,_   
_And happiness too swiftly flies._   
_Thought would destroy their paradise._   
_No more; where ignorance is bliss,_   
_'Tis folly to be wise._   
_-Thomas Gray, Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College_

 

_Sailing on the distant seas from darkness to deliverance_   
_Tales like the ocean written to the Draco's glance_   
_-“The Pharaoh Sails to Orion,” Nightwish_

As was usual, Harry was the first one awake their first morning back at Hogwarts. Thankfully, professors were allowed to take breakfast in their own rooms when the students were absent, although they were strongly encouraged to have lunch and dinner together in the Great Hall. 

He had decided the night before to experiment with the Room of Requirement to see how well-equipped it was to provide him with dueling training, so he quickly ate his small breakfast. The halls of Hogwarts were empty and quiet, and Harry took the chance to simply bask in the presence of his first true home. Having been so injured in June, he had been unable to truly appreciate the environs, and before that it had been years since he had set foot inside the school. Perhaps it was his imagination, but it seemed as though the castle were welcoming him. 

Harry paid little attention to the portraits as he headed directly for the Room of Requirement, making use of a shortcut or two. There were a few portraits missing from what he remembered, but they all acted as he expected them to, either whispering to each other or snoring. Being a portrait must be a dull prospect, Harry figured. Particularly when the students were gone and no one was around to gossip about. 

He froze in his tracks when he reached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He had nearly forgotten. How had he forgotten? 

Harry paced three times in front of the blank wall. _I need a place to hide my book…I need a place to hide my book…I need a place to hide my book._

An endless maze of junk greeted him when he yanked open the door. The last time he had seen this place, it and Crabbe had been consumed by Fiendfyre. Now here it was, practically untouched. 

His heart was in his throat as his feet followed a path he only half-recalled. He knew the horcrux wouldn’t – shouldn’t – be there, but it was something he needed to see with his own eyes. And there was the bust, the wig…

Harry sighed in relief. No diadem. Not that he’d expected it, but it would be just his luck. 

His next concern was the cabinet, and he found it easily. Still broken, as it had been until his sixth year. He remembered the misfortune that had come from this cabinet. His friends had nearly died. Gone unchecked, the DA, the students, the professors all could have been killed before realizing anything was wrong. 

Not to mention this god-forsaken cabinet had contributed to Dumbledore’s death. 

He glared, fists clenched at his sides, and nearly shook with fury. What had happened, what _could_ have happened, only fed his anger and before Harry knew what was happening his magic lashed out, following his subconscious desire. Wood cracked, splintered, and was destroyed utterly. He blinked in surprise and stared down at the pile of kindling and dust, exhaling shakily. Dangerous. It had been dangerous to let his temper run unchecked. 

Harry hoped the Room of Requirement could provide some sort of dueling simulation or something, because he desperately needed to unwind. 

 

The week before the Welcoming Feast passed quickly. Galatea was a quick-witted witch in her 70’s, her white hair cropped short and her dark brown eyes sharp. While explaining the curriculum and her teaching style, she quizzed him on his knowledge of the subject, going so far as to have him demonstrate his most powerful shield, his accuracy and aim, and his Patronus. It had shocked him to see, not a silvery stag, but a phoenix burst from his wand. Had he been anyone else, he might have dropped his wand altogether. As it was, he definitely fumbled it for an instant and the silver form disappeared.

“You look rather surprised,” Galatea commented idly, but it didn’t fool Harry into thinking that she wasn’t paying attention. 

“Um, yeah. Yes. The last time I summoned my Patronus it was a stag,” he explained. 

The professor hummed thoughtfully. “It has been proven that a great emotional upheaval or something similar can change a person’s Patronus,” she said. 

“I think I’ve heard that before,” Harry nodded. He supposed the time travel could have altered his patronus, or even defeating Tom Riddle for good. But why a phoenix? Surely his Animagus form would have made more sense. 

He thought about it later, alone in front of the living room window when Albus was making last minute changes to his lesson plans in his office. He summoned his patronus and watched as it seemed to flow through the air, trailing wisps of silver. 

Fawkes fluttered over to perch on his shoulder and nipped his ear hard, just as Hedwig had once done. 

“Don’t be silly Fawkes,” Harry said softly as he stroked the phoenix’s warm feathers. “You know I’m not replacing you. You just want attention.” 

Harry was extremely fond of Fawkes, and Fawkes was fond of him, but that couldn’t be enough to shape his patronus. Which of his friends had said that patroni were like guardians, representing what makes you feel safe and protected? 

And then he remembered – had he been 15 or 13? – seeing Professor Dumbledore’s phoenix patronus, and he blushed. Did the form of his patronus represent Albus? 

Harry thought back over the past few months. Albus had cared for him when he was sick and injured. He worried about Harry without smothering him. He offered him a place to stay, even encouraged Harry to remain with him. Albus soothed him whenever he witnessed Harry’s nightmares, and his very presence seemed to act as a shield against them. He also treated him as an equal. His former mentor had given him purpose in life, had found him a job, and was his closest friend and confidante in this time.

The more Harry thought about it, the less surprised he was by the form his patronus had taken. Perhaps one day he would tell Albus the significance. 

 

Harry was greeted with interest by most of the Hogwarts staff, all of whom knew he had slain the basilisk and apprehended Riddle, but at least it was friendly interest. The glaring exception was the Charms professor, Matthew Pillingsworth, but apparently he was like that with everyone. He was a crotchety wizard, one of the oldest on the staff, but Harry was a good judge of character and he could tell that there wasn’t any true cruelty in him. His bark, as the Muggles would say, was worse than his bite. 

When the time traveler wasn’t preparing for his role as assistant DADA professor, Harry could be found either practicing in the Room of Requirement or spending time with Albus. He met all of the other professors and did his best to avoid spending too much time around Slughorn without being obvious or unfriendly about it. It wasn’t that he disliked the man exactly (he had never forgotten how he, McGonagall, and Kingsley had held back Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts), but now that he had no obligation to get close to the Potions Professor, he had no desire to be added to the wizard’s collection. He did not want to be shoved into the spotlight. 

During mealtimes in the Great Hall, when Harry wasn’t simply listening to the conversation around the table, he spoke most often with either Albus or Galatea, and their neighbors could be drawn in as they wished. At this point he did not desire to be too close to any others on the staff, but he tried not to isolate himself too much either, and had been rewarded his third day with an hour long conversation on Quidditch with the Flying Professor. Andrew Ercklehart had played Seeker for the Wimbourne Wasps in his younger days, and Harry questioned him about his career with growing interest. 

The staff member Harry actually found most disconcerting was History professor Cuthbert Binns. He looked exactly like he had 50 years from now, only with color and non-transparent. Harry was a little on edge wondering if the man would drop dead any minute. 

Before Harry knew it, September 1st had arrived. Everyone kept an eye on the time as evening drew closer, and with it the Hogwarts Express. He had been about to make his way to the Great Hall when Albus nearly ran into him looking unusually flustered. 

“Sorry Harry,” he said absently. “Armando and I both forgot to retrieve the Sorting Hat and the Express has just arrived at the station.” 

“How on earth did you both manage to forget the Hat?”

“Peeves, mainly.”

“You can tell me later,” Harry said with a grin as Albus gave him a sheepish look. “You need to greet the first years, don’t you? I’ll run and grab it for you.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Honestly, Albus, it’s not a problem,” Harry interrupted. “I’ll see you in a bit.” 

“Thank you,” the Deputy Headmaster called after him as he jogged away. 

In very little time Harry found himself alone in the Headmaster’s office. He recognized a few of the whirring instruments from when he had been a student and Dumbledore the Headmaster, and assumed those were tied to the wards. He had noticed earlier that the office was much less cluttered than he was used to, and the photographs and knickknacks were different.

“Sorting Hat, Sorting Hat,” Harry murmured to himself, scanning the nearby shelves. “Aha.” A quick levitation charm and he turned to leave with the ancient artifact in his possession. It was a little awkward simply carrying the Hat, and he hadn’t yet spoken with it since arriving in the time period. He had simply used it to get Gryffindor’s sword. 

_Finally_ , said a familiar voice as the Sorting Hat settled on his head. _I was wondering when you would come speak with me._ It sounded rather disgruntled. 

“Sorry,” Harry murmured. “I didn’t exactly have a chance to speak with you until now, seeing as how I almost died. Thanks, by the way. For the sword.” 

_At least you’ve got manners this time around, Mr. Potter._ It might have been his imagination, but he thought he could feel the Hat rummaging around in his head. 

“Just Harry, please,” he said with a wince. 

_You do know you can’t hide your surname forever_ , it said complacently. 

“I know. I’d prefer to hide it for as long as possible, though. By the way, how the heck did you make it back to the Headmaster’s office on your own?” He was, as evidenced by his school years, intensely curious. It was part of what had gotten him into so much trouble. 

_Trade secret_ , it said, sounding a bit smug. 

“Fine. Be that way.” Harry briefly arranged his expression into a pout, although the Hat probably couldn’t see it. 

They walked in comfortable silence down one of the many staircases of Hogwarts. 

_Hmmm. You are a very interesting wizard, Harry. I can’t say I’ve ever sat on the head of a time traveler before._

Harry realized suddenly that he probably should have double-checked that the confidentiality enchantment on the Sorting Hat applied to people who were not being sorted, and promptly had a minor panic attack. 

_No need to fret. I cannot speak of anything I see in any mind I am given access to, be it student, professor, or visitor._

“Good,” Harry said a little faintly, and pressed a hand to his chest where his heart was still recovering from the scare. 

_The future was not a happy place_ , it said as unhappily as an enchanted inanimate object could. _The horrors you’ve witnessed, the tragedies you’ve been involved in, and yet you’ve kept on going, kept on living and pushing yourself to complete the task you were given. If I had difficulty sorting you when you were 11, that is nothing compared to how you are now. You have the qualities of all four houses, Harry._

“Good thing you aren’t sorting me, then, isn’t it?” he said with a faint smile. 

_Indeed. I do, however, have a new class of wizards and witches to sort._

“What? Oh!” He whipped the Sorting Hat off his head and coughed in embarrassment as he realized he had reached the Head Table. Thankfully, the returning students were only beginning to trickle in. 

Harry didn’t fail to notice the intensity with which Headmaster Dippet regarded the Sorting Hat, and he had a feeling that the wizard would be consulting it to confirm that he was trustworthy and not some sort of threat to the residents of Hogwarts. It was actually a good way to relieve some of Dippet’s suspicions and fears. Harry wished he had thought of it earlier. 

He took his seat at the Head Table and sighed. It was a little nerve-wracking being on display to the student body, but he would get used to it eventually. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t had practice being stared at or whispered about. At the moment he practiced a few of his Occlumency exercises to keep calm and waited patiently for Albus to enter with the first years. 

He noticed Hagrid – Rubeus, he had to remember to call him Rubeus – waving at him enthusiastically from the Gryffindor, and smiled as he waved back. 

 

Harry adjusted fairly quickly over the first few weeks of the term. He had never taught formally, and had never before been responsible for giving and taking points, nor for assigning detentions. Thankfully, the rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor was not as serious and cut-throat in the 1940’s, possibly because the most recent Dark Lords of Europe had not been Hogwarts graduates. 

The names of several of the students had startled him, most notably Nott, Parkinson, Prewitt, and Alphard Black. Thankfully, the Potters of the time period were either too old or too young to be attending Hogwarts. It was shameful, really, how little he knew of his own family. 

The students were a little unsure of him to begin with. He was the only official assistant professor any of them had had, although a few of seventh years at the top of their class acted as aides to various professors for extra credit or experience. In addition, he was the youngest professor on staff, was known by his first name as no one knew his surname, and on occasion his eyes looked so haunted it gave them the shivers. 

Surprisingly, the younger students warmed up to him more quickly than any of the others. He was always friendly, encouraging and helpful when they needed help, whether it was on an essay or with a spell. Maybe it was because of his youth, or because he wasn’t a full professor, but they felt more comfortable going to him and getting him to clarify everything about the class, big and little, that they had trouble understanding. 

Hagrid, of course, had recognized him immediately and struck up a conversation the first chance he had. It amused Harry how impressed the other students had been with the half-giant for doing so. 

Eventually, the student body adjusted to his presence and things got interesting. Apparently, someone had let slip just who had saved the school at the end of last term. Harry was willing to bet on Myrtle, although he acknowledged that it was just as likely a student, ghost, or portrait had overheard one of the professors and spread the word. Secrets rarely remained secret at Hogwarts, after all. Now, in addition to Myrtle, a great many of the girls from all four Houses had taken the fluttering, giggling, and generally making a nuisance of themselves in his vicinity. He’d been forced to implement his vast knowledge of the castle’s secret passageways just to get some peace between classes. It wasn’t that the girls were throwing themselves at him. They weren’t breaking any rules, exactly. It just made Harry feel awkward and uncomfortable. Hopefully they would get over him in a month or two. 

“It’s gotten to the point that I’d have to be caught snogging someone before they back off,” Harry complained to Albus at one point. He completely failed to see the strange expression that crossed the others’ face at the comment. 

It was because of all of the crushes that Harry avoided the Three Broomsticks the first Hogsmeade weekend and instead headed for the Hog’s Head. He was craving some butterbeer after years without tasting any. 

“Hello, Harry,” Albus said as he exited Honeydukes stowing away a large bag of candy. “May I join you?” 

“Of course,” Harry replied cheerfully. 

Albus fell into step at his side. “Where are you off to?” 

“I wanted a butterbeer, but my fan club is lying in wait at the Three Broomsticks, so I’m headed to the Hog’s…” He stopped mid-sentence. Aberforth ran the Hog’s Head. 

“Ah,” Albus said quietly. 

“Actually, I do need some more quills and parchment, so why don’t we go to that stationary shop,” Harry said quickly, spinning around and trying to remember where the store was located. 

His companion placed a restraining hand on his arm. “It’s quite all right, Harry. I don’t mind accompanying you to the pub.” 

“But your brother,” Harry murmured, peering up at the taller wizard. 

“I will have to ask you someday how you knew about his chosen career,” Albus said with attempted lightness. “However, it has been decades since the incident, and Abe and I are both grown men. I’m sure we can stand to be in the same room for a while.” 

Harry hoped he wasn’t making a mistake as he cautiously agreed and continued down the road to the bar. He remembered how bitter Aberforth Dumbledore had been in the 90’s. 

The pair stepped into the Hog’s Head, and Harry took a moment to simply look around at all of the differences. It was cleaner for one thing. Newer, definitely, although it still smelled of goats. The hour was too early for most drinkers, and none of the students would dare try anything with two professors present. Only one person other than Aberforth was present, nursing an unidentified substance in a corner and ignoring all else. 

The younger Dumbledore brother looked up, familiar blue eyes narrowing as he saw the customers. 

“Did you want…?” Harry asked lowly. 

“I will have what you are having,” Albus replied, and moved to grab a seat near the window. 

“Two butterbeers, please,” Harry said pleasantly to the bartender. 

Abe grunted and arched a bushy eyebrow, but complied. 

“Thank you,” Harry said with a tense smile and slid a few coins across the counter before taking the two drinks over to where Albus was seated. They spoke quietly, their voices sounding loud in the near silent atmosphere. By the time he was nearly finished with his drink, he was truly regretting that he hadn’t simply braved the female masses at the Three Broomsticks. They would both be happier, and he would be able to enjoy his first taste of butterbeer in ages. 

“I need to use the loo, and then we can go,” Harry said as soon as he had drained his glass. 

Albus nodded and turned to watch Aberforth diligently wiping a dirty glass. Taking a deep breath, he stood, the empty glasses in his hands giving him an excuse to approach his brother. 

“So,” Abe said, looking up at him. “Decided to show your face, have you?” 

Albus managed to force a smile, though it looked strained. “Hello Aberforth.” 

“What are you doing here?” the bartender demanded stonily. 

“Harry wanted to come here for a butterbeer, and I offered to come with him,” Albus replied. 

“Before or after you knew where he was going?” 

Albus looked away, and his brother snorted. 

“Figured,” he muttered. 

“Aberforth, I know you don’t want to see me – ” 

“Damn right I don’t,” the other hissed. “Especially not when you’re repeating your mistakes.” 

Albus jerked back as though struck, and his face drained of all color. “What?” he whispered stiffly. 

“You’ve always been drawn to power,” Abe sneered. “And you’d have to be a fool to miss the power in your companion. I’ve heard the rumors. Wizard comes from nowhere, no last name, nothing, defeats whatever was endangering the school, and you’re taking him in, no questions asked. Who’s this one gonna kill, then?” 

Albus gripped the counter so tightly his knuckles turned white, and his fury flared to life, his magic crackling in the air around him. The only other customer in the pub had been eyeing the door since the brothers had begun conversing. He took this as a sign to flee. Neither wizard paid him any mind. 

“Say what you like about me,” said Albus lowly, blue eyes flashing. “I deserve it. But don’t you _dare_ say such things about Harry.” An unnatural wind ruffled his hair and robes as he spoke. 

Harry walked into the room just then, and froze upon seeing the two powerful siblings glaring at each other, magic heavy in the air. “Albus?” he asked uncertainly. He quickly made his way to his colleague’s side, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Albus, shall we go?” 

Albus closed his eyes briefly, struggling to reign in his temper and release the tension in his body. “Yes,” he said, taking a step back. “Let’s go.” 

“Why don’t we go take the long way back to the castle, by the Shrieking Shack?” Harry suggested. “If you look at any of the students right now, they’re going to burst into tears.” 

“Shrieking Shack?” 

Harry gave him a strange look. “It’s…” He cut himself off, his eyes widening as the problem dawned on him. The Shrieking Shack wouldn’t be so named until Lupin began Hogwarts, and last he had checked the shack itself hadn’t been built yet. “Nothing,” he said, and set off away from the village with Albus keeping pace. 

For a moment, influenced by his confrontation with his brother, Albus contemplated forcing an answer from Harry. He stopped himself before he could damage his relationship with the younger wizard. Harry would tell him when he was ready, he thought stubbornly. And he was certainly nothing like Gellert.


	14. One Step Forward

_I want to swim away but don't know how_   
_Sometimes it feels just like I'm falling in the ocean_   
_Let the waves up take me down_   
_Let the hurricane set in motion... yeah_   
_Let the rain of what I feel right now...come down_   
_Let the rain come down_   
_-Blue October, “Into the Ocean”_

Harry frowned, pausing with the towel around his waist when he heard the restless sounds and frightened moans coming from Albus’ bedroom through the closed bathroom door. He was just about to enter and wake the other wizard when the sounds stopped abruptly, a sure sign that Albus had jolted awake. 

Harry sighed and returned to dressing. It had been like this for over a week now. If Albus wasn’t awake before Harry, a previously unusual occurrence, he was thrashing and groaning in his sleep. So far he had managed to wake himself before Harry could set foot in his bedroom, but that didn’t prevent him from worrying. Harry wasn’t sure that his presence would help anyway. At least, Harry thought wistfully, Albus had Fawkes. His only friend seemed almost to be drawing away from him. He didn’t seek out Harry’s company as often, and when the auburn-haired wizard did speak with him, he was becoming somewhat reserved. The time-traveler was a little hurt by this, and had been cursing his choice in pubs six ways from Sunday.

What on earth had Aberforth said to Albus? 

He quickly exited the bathroom, knowing that Albus would likely want to at least splash some cold water on his face, and wouldn’t want a witness to his nightmares. Merlin knew, Harry had permanent silencing charms around his bed. 

He finished his morning ablutions and settled down to read a Defense journal while he waited for Albus. As they lived together, it stood to reason that they would walk down to breakfast together. 

“Good morning, Harry,” Albus greeted, attempting a cheerful smile. 

Harry knew him much too well to be fooled. He could see the weariness in the blue eyes that had recently ceased to twinkle like crystals in the sunlight. “Good morning,” he replied. 

They walked down to the Great Hall in awkward silence. “How are the classes going?” Albus asked at last. 

Harry grasped onto this topic and smiled as he thought of the students he assisted and tutored. “Wonderful,” he enthused. “All of the first years can now cast both Expelliarmus and Protego. The Shield Charms aren’t powerful enough to stop the more than second year spells, of course, but it will at least slow down a lot of the more aggressive spells and that’s better than nothing. I’m glad I managed to talk Galatea into adjusting the curriculum a bit.” 

Albus’ smile was a bit more genuine. He genuinely cared for his students, and was glad to see that Harry was fitting in so well. “What of Miss Patrick’s situation?” 

“I’m taking Emilia back through the basics, trying to retrain her to loosen the hold on her wand a bit and adjust some of the sloppier movements, but a lot of her trouble is in her lack of confidence and her rather strong instinct to avoid Defense spells.” 

Albus nodded. “She is intelligent, but the practical portion of her Defense lessons continues to elude her. Galatea did what she could, but with so many students none of us has been able to find enough time to give Miss Patrick all of the help she needs, and no one knows just why she has problems. She is not exactly forthcoming. It was a good thing for us when you appeared, Harry.” 

Harry ducked his head at the praise and soldiered on. “It’s unfortunate that she has six years of habit to overcome, but we’re getting somewhere with how she wields a wand anyway. I had a friend who started out as clumsy and rather inept because of his lack of self-confidence, and he grew into a powerful and skilled wizard, so I think I can help with the confidence issues. What I’m worried about is her shielding technique. Since she seems so adept at Transfiguration, I’ve had her practice casting the appropriate spells as quickly as she’s able, and varying the objects. I’ve found pieces of marble or some type of stone to be best at blocking spells up to and including Avada Kedavra. If her first instinct is to avoid using DADA, then by Merlin I’m going to find some way for her to defend herself.” 

Albus agreed in a distant tone of voice, and Harry abruptly fell silent as they entered the Great Hall. Seeing that the Transfiguration Master wasn’t in the mood to speak with him, he chose instead to take one of the empty seats near the Charms professor. It insured that he could spend the meal brooding rather than being pulled reluctantly into conversation with one of his colleagues. 

Albus sighed regretfully at Harry’s departure. He had honestly been trying to act as he usually did around his companion and object of his affections, but whenever he succeeded, the memory of Aberforth’s words intruded upon him. And Harry persisted in being different. Unique. Which Albus loved him for, but it made it difficult to overlook things. Unlike the rest of the professors, he wasn’t focusing on preparing the students for tests. He was preparing them for real life. He was making sure that they could survive an attack. His heart almost stopped as a thought occurred to him. Did Harry see the war extending fully into the UK? 

It wasn’t right or fair. His brother hadn’t even spoken to Harry, didn’t know him like Albus did. He knew only the superficial things that he had picked up from the gossip in his pub. Albus knew Harry, knew what kind of person he was, and he was nothing like Gellert. But in the face of his brother’s condemnation – _you’re repeating your mistakes_ – his certainties wavered. He had refused to listen to Aberforth all those years ago, and look at what had happened. Was Albus simply going to brush him off again? 

_But he has never even spoken to Harry_ , Albus reminded himself. 

The nightmares didn’t help, either. Again and again Ariana died, sometimes it by Gellert’s wand, and sometimes by his own. Once it was Harry who had done the deed, and he had required Fawkes’ reassurances before his hysteria was calmed. 

Deep down Albus believed himself a coward. It was why he chose to stay close to the school rather than track down Gellert. It was why he never sought out his brother. It was why he had never told Harry that he loved him. He knew that Harry would likely never realize that Albus was attracted to him unless he simply told the other man. He suspected Harry’s relatives had quite a bit to do with Harry’s obliviousness in certain matters, and there were times he was almost glad the powerful young wizard wouldn’t tell him anything about who they were or where they lived, because he had a feeling he might kill them for what they had done. 

The usual stream of owls interrupted his thoughts, and he relieved the post owl of its burden. ‘British and French Elite Auror Battalion Slaughtered,’ screamed the Daily Prophet headline. _Oh, Gellert_ , Albus lamented not for the first time, his appetite suddenly vanishing. _What have you done now?_ And he wondered once again if he would be able to intervene. To end the war or die trying. 

_Harry is powerful enough to stop him_ , said a traitorous voice at the back of his mind, and he was utterly horrified with himself. The thought of Harry facing the monster that his old friend and lover had become… His heart clenched at the thought of putting the younger wizard in the path of that tyrant. 

No. He might someday have to confront Gellert before he managed to take over Europe entirely – he felt it was his responsibility – but Harry wouldn’t be anywhere near him when that happened. Albus wouldn’t allow it. 

 

The next time Harry had a night off, he headed for a butterbeer at the Hog’s Head while Albus was preoccupied with paperwork. He had no plans to speak with the younger Dumbledore – he didn’t want to get involved at all with what could be an explosive situation – but it was quieter than the Three Broomsticks, no one would ask questions, and he wasn’t really in the mood to interact with anyone. 

The Wizarding Wireless was playing quietly behind the bar, and he listened to updates on the war effort while he sipped his butterbeer with his back deliberately against a wall and a good view of the room. Hagrid had been right about the shady clientele of the pub, Harry acknowledged as the list of the dead finished, and the voice began announcing the success of a recent campaign somewhere in or near Bulgaria. His knowledge of geography, like history, was a bit sketchy. He thought he saw a hag in a dark corner, and the group of three playing dice mostly kept their hoods up. There was even someone with some sort of scarf wrapped around their head, showing only a pair of beady eyes, and another with a veil. There were plenty of others who, like Harry, dressed in normal robes, though. 

Harry didn’t notice when a deep, accented voice was broadcast over the Wireless, until two words penetrated his thoughtful daze. He jerked upright as Grindelwald spoke passionately about the, “Greater Good.” He had never heard Grindelwald speak before, but through Headmaster Dumbledore, that phrase affected him like a slap to the face. It was the excuse for most of the bad things in his life, he thought darkly. But not this time. Not if he could help it. Grindelwald would be defeated, and Harry would make sure that Albus would never be as alone as his former mentor. 

As the speech was broadcast to the Wizarding World, the mood in the pub grew tense, a maelstrom of drunken emotions. Thankfully, the message was short, imploring fellow bigots to oppress innocent Muggles in an effort to gain a false sense of superiority or some such. That was how Harry translated the honeyed words in any case. Grindelwald was a very persuasive and charismatic speaker, he grudgingly admitted. As was Hitler, if he remembered his primary school lessons correctly. Merlin, it was bloody fucking awful luck that those two like-minded, charismatic individuals happened to rise to power at the same general time in the same general place. And now he was living through it. 

He laughed, low and without humor, before noticing Aberforth making his way to Harry’s corner with a new drink as an excuse. He saw the stiffness of the younger Dumbledore’s expression, the darkness in his eyes, and he knew that whatever the bartender had to say to him, it was not going to be fun. 

“Hello,” Harry greeted him politely. He hadn’t the faintest idea what the other wanted to say, and it was always best to be cautious. 

“So you’re Harry, huh?” Aberforth said roughly. 

“Yes.” Thankfully he had the presence of mind not to continue and mention Aberforth’s relation to Albus. Not when the brothers were at each other’s throats within moments of being left alone. 

“Well,” he growled, slamming the glass down on the table. The noise was lost in the general hubbub of the pub. “I’ve got somethin’ to say to you, and I’m only sayin’ this once. I don’t trust you one whit, and damned if I’ll let the past repeat itself. You dick about with me, there’ll be consequences. And for Merlin’s sake, if you’re fucking with Albus, or just fucking Albus, if anyone winds up dead I will kill you.” 

Harry choked on hearing the last sentence and spent several undignified moments sputtering and coughing, trying desperately to breathe as Aberforth waited impatiently for his response. Being from the 90’s, the curses weren’t near as shocking to him as they were to many from the current time period, but the implication certainly did. 

“I have absolutely no intention of hurting or killing anyone,” he said seriously, breathing finally under control, and he gazed directly into Aberforth’s familiar eyes. “And I do genuinely care for your brother and my colleagues and students at Hogwarts. I am no murderer.”

“Hmph.” Clearly, Abe was not prepared to believe him, but he wouldn’t push it further. “You just remember what I said,” he warned one last time. 

Harry tilted his head to the side. “You really do care about your brother in spite of everything. At least a little. You wouldn’t go to the trouble otherwise.” 

Aberforth raised a bushy eyebrow. “He told you then? That does surprise me.” 

Harry nodded. “He told me.” 

“Don’t go thinking I forgive that arrogant arse, ‘cause I don’t. Not even close. Just look what’s going on in the world now.” 

Harry watched him return to the bar. No, Abe didn’t forgive Albus for Gellert and Ariana, and he might never do so – he was so bitter – but that didn’t mean he didn’t care at least a bit. Harry wouldn’t interfere with such a personal and potentially explosive family matter, though. Not with a ten-foot pole. 

But that still didn’t tell him what on earth Aberforth had said to so badly affect his brother.

 

Neither of them were quite sure how the fight had started. All they knew was that the tension had just been too much to bear any long and some small thing – probably Harry dodging another question – had been blown out of proportion.

“Why won’t you tell me anything,” Albus demanded. 

“I do!” protested Harry. 

“You dance around the subject of your school, the war, your past, your mysterious knowledge of Hogwarts and myself. For Merlin’s sake, you refuse to even tell me your surname. Do you trust me so little?” 

Albus’ words struck Harry like a physical blow, and for the moment he sought refuge in anger. “You are the only one I ever told about what my relatives did to me,” he said coldly. 

Although the older wizard hesitated noticeably, he was too far gone to stop. “Conditional trust is not trust. What more must I do for you to trust me, Harry?” 

Harry’s face was almost white at this point. “Damn it, Albus, it’s not you! I can’t! I can’t be that person again! I can’t be the hero, and I can’t be reminded, and I’m fucking terrified of being identified by the wrong people!” Before either of them could say something unforgivable he wheeled around and stormed out of their quarters. 

Albus sank down onto the couch. Fawkes crooned gently and fluttered over to comfort his bonded wizard. It was only when he reached out to pet the phoenix that Albus noticed his hands were shaking. 

Harry, meanwhile, rushed to the Room of Requirement. He needed away from everyone, and he especially needed to be away from Albus. Luckily it was near curfew, and so there were no students around to see him in such a state. He didn’t remember what he requested when he paced before the empty wall, but what he received was something like an obstacle course. 

_Perfect_ , Harry thought grimly. There was nothing like physical exertion and destroying things to work off his anger and frustration. 

An hour later he collapsed on an armchair, sweaty, exhausted, and almost in tears. He couldn’t blame Albus for his own lack of planning. Albus had been uncommonly generous and welcoming. He had given him so much, and Harry had given back so little, like the freeloader the Dursleys had always accused him of being. 

The problem was, Harry had never expected to become close to anyone in the past. He had never expected to be even somewhat well-known, and he had certainly never expected to befriend anyone he had known well in the future. His entire focus had been Voldemort, and he had been almost certain he would die bringing the Dark Lord down with him. After all, Voldemort had been after him his entire life, and he had always been more experienced and intelligent than Harry, and possibly stronger magically. It had been only a matter of time before the Dark Lord killed him. 

And then, inexplicably, to have won and kept his life, to have been taken in by Albus Dumbledore who had become so much more than the Harry’s past/future mentor. He had been forced to figure out a way to integrate into the society, and still somehow remain ‘just Harry’ to everyone, Albus in particular. 

He wanted to give a last name to Albus. But he couldn’t lie to him, particularly when the other wizard could see right through him. He didn’t deserve that, and Harry knew that he wasn’t a good enough actor to remember to respond to an alias. But he wasn’t ready for the Potter name to come from Albus’ lips, either. He might have adjusted well enough, but he didn’t think he could yet stand to be called Potter in the halls of Hogwarts. In any case, after withholding his last name for so many months, any name he gave would be scrutinized and regarded with curiosity or suspicion. The idea of the Ministry or another untrustworthy group discovering that he was a time traveler scared him shitless. He had seen how immoral and corrupt the governing body had become even before Voldemort took it over.

Responding to Harry’s subconscious need, the Room changed the armchair into a bed, allowing Harry to curl into a miserable ball and seek the refuge of sleep. Just before he drifted off, he wondered sleepily why he had reacted so strongly to the fight with Albus. Even when Ron had abandoned him…briefly…he hadn’t… 

 

The next few days were tense for the pair. Harry had yet to return to his rooms, choosing instead to sleep in the Room of Requirement, and they avoided interacting with each other in the hallways and at meals. They were subtle enough that none of the students caught on, but their colleagues eyed them worriedly. They two of them usually got along so well, often seeking the other out during breaks or mealtimes, that it was jarring to see the two so at odds. 

Galatea spent the most time with Harry these days, and she almost wished the two would yell at each other or do something to get things out in the open, rather than continue with this damaging silence. She saw how his face, never far from skin and bones to begin with, grew gaunt, and dark shadows appeared beneath his eyes. His bright green eyes that everyone secretly agreed were probably Harry’s best feature were dull and tired these days. Every smile seemed forced, and at this point even a few of Harry’s students noticed. 

“You alright, Pr’fessor Harry?” Amy, a small first year Hufflepuff, asked worriedly after several tense moments of working herself up to the question. 

Harry looked up from where he had been pointing out the mistakes in her homework and forced a tired smile. “I’m fine. Just been having trouble sleeping, is all.” 

She frowned, but didn’t push it further. Later he heard her telling her friends, “He says he’s fine,” in tones of disbelief and winced. These days he wasn’t even fooling eleven-year-olds, it seemed. At least the older years weren’t comfortable enough or concerned enough to start questioning his health. Or perhaps they had heard his excuses through the Hogwarts grapevine. 

Albus’ health wasn’t being asked after, but then he was a powerful and awe-inspiring figure. He had also thought of using glamours. 

 

“I’m fine, Tippy, really,” Harry protested with a tired smile as he attempted to fend off the concerned house elf. He had been taking his meals in the kitchen when he remembered to eat, and had spent quite some time acquainting himself with the other house elves and conversing with Tippy when he had the chance. 

“Great Master Harry, sir, is looking so tired, Tippy worries, sir,” she said, gazing at him with large eyes and ears hanging low. “Good Wizard Professor Harry should sleep.” 

“I do sleep,” Harry said only somewhat truthfully. “And you know you can just call me Harry,” he added automatically. 

“If kind Harry, sir will not eat, Tippy will at least get him to eat,” the little house elf says determinedly, and begins to bustle around the kitchen, ordering about some of her fellow elves. 

Merlin, he wasn’t fooling house elves either. He really was pathetic. 

“Just send it to the Come and Go Room,” Harry said at last, admitting defeat. He kept a false smile on his face until he exited the kitchens. The hallway was dark and empty. He slid down the wall, pressing the heels of his hands to his closed eyes. He just wanted to go home. To go back to Albus and forget the whole fight had happened, to sleep the night through without screaming his throat raw.

It was upon this scene that Albus stumbled. 

He had seen the way Harry was almost beginning to waste away, and he knew that it was because of the nightmares. He had had his own fair share of nightmares in the nights since the fight. His pride had kept him from seeking the other out until Harry’s skin grew pale, and the shadows under his eyes grew more prominent. It had frightened him to see how the argument had affected the younger wizard, and he refused to allow his pride to affect Harry’s health. Albus hadn’t been entirely in the wrong, but he knew he could have handled things better. 

He stayed up late into the night, waiting, hoping Harry would return. He looked up every few minutes during mealtimes in the Great Hall, wishing Harry would enter, wondering if he was eating. It had taken this loneliness and regret to snap him from the daze his brother’s words had caused. Albus regretted ever listening to Aberforth in the first place. What did he know about Harry? Abe hadn’t lived with him, taken care of him, confided in him and been confided in in turn. 

Albus had wandered the castle the night before, questioning the portraits and searching every available set of rooms for Harry, but not even Headmaster Dippet knew where the assistant professor had chosen to sleep. He would apologize, make whatever promises Harry demanded, if only the younger wizard would _come back_. If only he would stop putting on a rather heartbreaking façade of normalcy against his suffering, if only he would stop suffering. 

He had been on his way to the kitchens for a cup of hot cocoa to drink while he thought about other places Harry could have holed up in, when he saw the man in question sitting on the floor with his head buried in his arms. 

“Harry?” he said in surprise. 

Harry jumped. He ought to have been more aware of his surroundings, particularly with some of the looks he had been getting from Riddle’s former gang and the increasingly vicious pranks he had foiled. “Albus?” he questioned a little thickly. 

“Come, Harry,” the older wizard said after a moment of silence. He reached down and helped him to his feet, and Harry let him, leaned on him because he was so tired and Albus was here, solid and warm and safe. “Let’s get you to bed, hm? You look exhausted.” 

Harry didn’t speak, simply allowed Albus to do what he wanted and only sighed a little when Fawkes flashed into existence above him and trilled happily. In very little time, Albus had guided him to their shared quarters and into his bed. Harry vaguely registered a hand on his forehead, brushing his hair out of his eyes, and then that familiar, comforting presence was withdrawing. 

“Wait,” Harry said without thinking, reaching out to capture a sleeve. “Stay with me. Please.” He was so desperate for a peaceful sleep, and Albus’ presence had given that to him before. 

Albus paused for a long moment, and Harry thought perhaps he would refuse. But then he nodded and acquiesced to his request, sliding on top of the covers and turning on his side to face him. 

“Go to sleep Harry,” he said gently. “We’ll talk in the morning.”


	15. More Time

_In a dream,_   
_Will you give your love to me?_   
_Beg my broken heart to beat,_   
_Save my life, change my mind._

_If I fall and all is lost._   
_No light to lead the way._   
_Remember that all alone is where I belong._   
_-Evanescence, “Cloud Nine”_

_Tell some white lies_   
_They can swallow and then_   
_You don’t see how you got into this situation_

_Late at night_   
_Late at night you weep_   
_For something better than the secrets you keep_   
_Lay down just lay down here close to me_   
_And tell me what you want from me_   
_-Rob Thomas, “Give Me the Meltdown”_

 

Surprisingly, Albus was the first one up the next morning. His internal alarm clock had woken him with enough time to get ready for class, which was fortunate as neither he nor Harry had been in any state of mind to set up an alarm. 

But he didn’t want to get up. He was warm and comfortable, with Harry curled up against him, trusting and vulnerable in his sleep. For the first time in several days his sleep had been dreamless. Albus wanted to wake up like this every morning, wanted to know everything about the wizard who slept against him. Wanted to do things he was sure Harry would never permit. 

With a heavy sigh, he pressed his lips briefly against the head of dark hair, and gently began disentangling himself. It was time to return to reality.

“Albus?” a sleepy voice asked. “What are you doing?” 

The older wizard closed his eyes, briefly allowing his imagination to paint a less innocent picture of the scene. “I need to get ready for class. Go back to sleep, Harry. We can talk later.”

“But I have a class too,” Harry protested, brow furrowed as he worked to shake off the fuzziness of at last getting a good sleep. 

“I can tell you haven’t been sleeping. I was planning to let you sleep in and tell Galatea that you were unwell. Fawkes can stay with you while I am gone,” the professor offered as his familiar appeared in a burst of flames, chirping happily. 

“I’m fine,” Harry said automatically, making to get up when a strong hand gently pushed him back. 

“You’re not,” Albus said firmly. “Even the students can see that something is wrong. Just rest for now. It is unfortunate that our talk will once again be postponed,” he continued blithely, watching Harry flinch from the corner of his eye, “but I have plenty of free time this afternoon. Fawkes would be more than happy to keep you company.” 

_And give me away if I even think about escaping_ , Harry didn’t say, but his expression said it all. 

Albus chuckled lowly. “I will see you later, Harry,” he said fondly, as he turned to leave. “Sleep well.” 

“I can see through glamours, you know,” Harry said before his friend could get too far. 

Albus froze. So he had not managed to conceal from Harry, at least, the evidence of tormented dreams and sleepless nights. 

“Perhaps,” he said without turning around. “But it appears that your demons are far stronger than mine.” 

 

 

Fawkes didn’t send him to sleep again, perhaps realizing that if Harry slept the day through he would be wide awake all night. Instead he seemed happy to follow Harry, occasionally preening his unruly hair if he was sitting still. It seemed rather strange not to have practiced dueling at all that day. Instead he contented himself with correcting the rest of the homework Galatea had asked him to grade, and then turning to a Defense publication when he grew too restless, occasionally snorting in amusement at how out of date some of the information was. To him at least. In Harry’s time, the Gilbreich Countercurse had long been replaced by the Golden Shield, which was both simpler and more versatile. 

He was as careful as he could be to keep to the spells that had been invented so far. He really didn’t need any more attention than he already had. 

As the end of the school day drew closer, Harry sighed and put aside the magazine. Was it…should he tell Albus? It wasn’t fair to him to keep so many secrets. Albus deserved so much better, particularly when he had confided in Harry the events of his sister’s death. It still warmed Harry to think of the trust Albus had bestowed upon him. He was almost certain Headmaster Dumbledore had never spoken a word of the incident to anyone; only after his murder had the truth come out. How could he not think of sharing with Albus his own greatest secret? 

But Harry wasn’t ready. He was only just beginning to remember happy memories of his friends, without the horror and devastation of their deaths bursting before his mind’s eye. Sometimes he could remember when they had been content, lazy walks in the sun by the lake, without remembering slit throats, eyes wide open in death, and blood. Sometimes he drowned in it, and sometimes he burned, but sometimes, just sometimes, he could see genuine smiles. Remembered when the responsibility and leadership had not fallen so heavily on his hunched shoulders, when he could be called “Potter” within the halls of Hogwarts and not feel as though he were having a panic-attack. 

He wasn’t ready to tell. But he was afraid, if Albus pushed, that he would. He knew he would tell him, because Albus deserved it, and Harry just wasn’t ready yet, it was too soon, but if Albus pushed him too hard it would come. Because, as he was beginning to understand, he cared far too much about Albus to lie to him, or hurt him with silence. 

Harry rested his forehead against his bent knees and gripped his hair, tugging hard and disregarding completely Fawkes’ indignant squawk. Phoenix song broke through his turmoil eventually. 

“What will come, will come,” he sighed to his avian friend, as he gently stroked his warm feathers. The steady movements lulled him into a trance, until the sound of the door startled him into awareness. 

“Harry?” Albus called. 

“In here.” 

“Would you like dinner first?” 

“No,” Harry responded. “Best get this over with.” 

Albus sighed and sat down next to him on the couch, angling so that he faced him. “I don’t want to force you, Harry. And I don’t want to hurt you or make you feel betrayed. But I can’t wait forever. Is there anything at all you can tell me?” 

Harry leaned his head against the couch, eyes dark with turmoil. “I’m not ready, Albus,” he said softly. “I promise I will be one day, and you are the only one I would even consider telling my secret to.” He bit his lip. “If you push me, I will end up telling you.” 

“And resent me for it,” Albus concluded, reaching out to take Harry’s hand. The younger wizard was so alone, he wanted to provide what comfort he could. 

“It is your choice,” Harry said. “Now or later. Your terms or mine.” He turned his face away. “I am so tired of fighting,” he whispered. 

The choice was not difficult at all. “I will respect your wishes to wait, Harry. In turn, I ask that you not lie to me if my questions cross that line.” 

Harry’s head whipped around to look at him, wide-eyed. “I promise,” he said, head tilted to the side as he studied his companion. 

“Do you know when you will be ready?” Albus asked tentatively. 

Harry gave this careful thought. He was recovering slowly, but surely with his friend’s help. It would be almost a relief to have someone else who knew, someone who could keep him from being drawn to the attention of the Ministry or others who would use him for their own gain. And for Albus’ sake, he knew it would need to be after he defeated Grindelwald and recovered from whatever trauma confronting his former friend might cause. “Give me a year,” he said. “I know it’s a lot to ask for, after everything you’ve done for me… And maybe I’ll be ready sooner, I don’t know, but…” 

“It is done,” said Albus agreeably. He made as if to stand, and hesitated. “I have a question, if I may.” 

Harry nodded with a guarded expression. 

“Who is it you see, sometimes, when you look at me?” he queried softly. 

Harry froze. 

“Nobo…” He couldn’t say that, not about his Headmaster, his former mentor. “A dead man. Someone who doesn’t exist.” Harry, of his own accord and without any awkwardness, gently touched Albus cheek and watched as the troubled expression disappeared. “You are not him. You are your own person.” 

His words could have been taken badly. But though Albus did not know what he was talking about, he knew Harry’s meaning was not at all negative, because he knew Harry. He couldn’t help the rush of affection at the knowledge that Harry saw him for himself, that he wasn’t using Albus as a substitute for another man. He was suddenly overcome by the desire to kiss the smaller wizard, but he had barely begun to lean down when common sense returned like a bludger to the head. What was he doing? 

“Shall we have dinner?” Albus asked. 

A hint of a smile hovered at the corners of Harry’s mouth. “That sounds good,” he agreed. “And…thank you.” 

“You are very welcome, Harry.” 

 

 

He gasped, moaned as limbs twined together, held the other as close as he could, never close enough. Skin to skin, slick, always moving, unable and unwilling to remain still. Traced scars with lips and tongue, hummed in contentment as his partner writhed beneath him, wanting him, and he leaned down to –

"Albus!"

He jolted awake, his dream leaving him panting, and blinked dumbly at the person who had shaken him awake. "Harry?" he said, and then blushed fiercely, brighter than his hair. Surreptitiously he adjusted his rumpled sheets to hide his erection, and bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the overwhelming need to move his hips.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked anxiously. "I heard you moaning when I got out of the shower, and you were thrashing around. That must have been a bad nightmare."

For a moment Albus could do no more than stare blankly at his companion. Surely Harry wasn't nearly that naïve? But yes, yes he was. He could slay basilisks and Dark Lords, and held himself like a war veteran, but there had been no one to teach him about love and lust. Certainly not his vile relatives.

"I'm fine," Albus said, though his voice was strained. _Oh Merlin, please don't let him notice, please don't let me do something foolish, like try to bed him now, and isn't it just typical the first time I dream of him he walks in on me?_ He was flustered, and aching, and really wishing Harry would leave him alone so he could try to piece back together his shattered dignity.

And he really needed to get rid of his raging hard-on. He hated feeling like such a teenager. It was lucky he hadn't been sharing a bed with Harry. There was no way the other would have remained ignorant in that case.

"If you're sure," Harry said hesitantly.

"Yes," Albus said tightly, trying not to pay attention to Harry's lips, or the drop of water that was running down his slender throat. "I'll be out in a minute."

The moment Harry had exited his room, he locked the door with the first spell that came to mind and flopped down on his back. When Albus closed his eyes, he could still see the pale expanse of skin from his dream, and it really didn't help his situation. He clenched his hands into fists, concentrating on the pain as his nails bit into his palm. Albus refused to touch himself, refused to find release in imagining Harry. In his mind that was far too disrespectful.

He groaned before heaving himself out of bed and made his way to the bathroom for a cold shower. Harry had no idea what he did to Albus.

He chuckled humorlessly. And he himself was too much of a coward to confess. Wasn't it just his luck to fall in love with someone who would never know unless Albus found the courage to tell him?

 

 

Harry stared at the shelf of ready-made potions, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. This close to the holiday season, the weather was freezing, and despite the relative warmth of the store his hands were buried deeply in the pocket of his winter cloak.

This was the first time he had ventured beyond Hogsmeade since arriving at Hogwarts, and he was jumpy and nervous. The crowds did nothing to help his paranoia developed during years of war, and the vague threat of bombing simply added to it. He was fairly sure the Germans hadn't risked bombing during the day, and he couldn't remember anything about whether Diagon Alley had taken a hit or not, but that didn't help him to calm down. It was a fear from his childhood, after seeing documentaries about World War II in primary school. The mass destruction had terrified him; he had seen much worse now, but couldn't shake that subconscious fear.

He had already nearly drawn his wand on several people who had bumped into him.

This was why he had stuck with candy and gift certificates from Hogsmeade for his colleagues. But Albus needed something different. Something special, because Harry had grown to care very deeply for the wizard who had done so much for him. So he had braved the holiday crowds, racking his brain for something Albus might like.

He wasn't sure why he had entered the Apothecary in the first place. There may be something for Albus' Alchemical hobby, but it was hardly personal. Before he could leave, however, the shelves of premade potions caught his eye. In particular, the hair dye.

Harry debated with himself for a moment, and then browsed through the colors, checking expiration dates as he went. In the end he chose two vials, two different shades of blonde. After all, Harry thought wryly to himself as he went to make his purchase, it was never too early to prepare for infiltrating Germany.


	16. In Sickness and in Health

_I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure in the landscape – the loneliness of it – the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it – the whole story doesn’t show._   
_-Andrew Wyeth_

_A ballad of dark queen echoes through night_   
_As he flees the curse of gods, the pharaoh`s wrath._   
_-Nightwish, Dark Passion Play, “Sahara”_

 

Almost two weeks until the start of the winter holidays, and the nightmares returned for Harry with a vengeance. 

He delved into his memories, forcing himself to recall every last happy memory of his friends. The horrors of war inevitably tagged along and any sense of peace he initially felt was torn to shreds as soon as he closed his eyes. 

The first night Harry lasted less than four hours before screaming himself awake, only to find that he had already lost his voice and couldn’t even manage to swallow without pain. So he spent the silent hours until class started reminiscing as best he could of happier times with the Weasleys, Hermione, Neville, and Luna. Harry cried, of course, but sometimes, rarely, he smiled. 

His voice was hoarse the next day, and he talked as little as he could get away with, but he did have classes he had to help teach. Albus and Galatea, the two who knew him best and saw him most often, gave him worried looks that he did his best to brush off.

“Nice day,” Albus remarked airily at lunch in the Great Hall. His blue eyes belied his concern at Harry’s somewhat haggard appearance. 

Harry glanced up before looking at his companion with a dubious expression. It was almost dark thanks to the buildup of storm clouds, and he could hear the faint shriek of the wind despite the thick stone walls of the ancient castle. “Quite,” he rasped with a quirk of his lips. 

“Good for a roaring fire and maybe some cocoa to share,” Albus suggested quietly. In the privacy of their rooms, Harry tended to let him fuss over the younger wizard a bit more than he allowed in public. At the very least it would be relaxing, and maybe he could find honey or something similar to ease Harry’s sore throat. If he was persistent enough, Albus might even manage to persuade him to take a Pepper-Up Potion to help prevent the cold he seemed to be coming down with.

Harry studied him for a moment, but his decision hardly required any thought. Besides, he probably ought to take a break from brooding over his earlier years. “That sounds good,” he agreed with a grateful smile. 

That night, after a companionable evening spent mostly in silence Harry, with only a little hesitance, joined Albus in his bed. He didn’t want his happiness to be tainted by night terrors again, and his sleep had always before remained uninterrupted when in Albus’ immediate presence. 

He didn’t wake himself screaming that night, but he whimpered and twitched until Albus shook him awake. This happened twice that night, and despite the reprieve from his screams and Albus’ reassurances, the guilt of disturbing his roommate’s sleep kept Harry subdued the next day. Rather than disturb Albus again, Harry decided to attempt what Sirius had done in Azkaban. He transformed into his wolf form and curled up on his bed, hoping that with his emotions dulled, his nightmares would cease as well. 

It worked to a point. He wasn’t experienced enough to maintain his Animagus form while asleep, and the moment he was human again, the horrors began. Harry jerked violently awake and wearily rubbed his face. He wasn’t going to get any rest tonight, and so he continued to work on his project. It perpetuated his nightmares, but it would be worth it in the end. 

 

“Enough is enough, Harry,” Albus said a few days later, his expression a mix of stern and concerned. “You can barely speak, your eyes are read, and that cough is getting worse. If you don’t rest you’ll catch more than a cold. Go back to bed, and I’ll send Cordelia up to see you.” 

“Albus,” Harry said hoarsely. “There’s no need to get Madam Basset involved. Really. I’ll just take a Pepper Up Potion and I’ll be fine.” 

Albus sighed. “That hasn’t worked yet, Harry. What you need is sleep, and I can tell that you’ve been getting very little. If it helps you, I honestly don’t mind being woken up in the middle of the night, but so far you’ve been avoiding my company.” 

“All right,” Harry sighed, seeing that Albus wouldn’t budge on this, and not having the energy to argue. “I’ll stay here, and Fawkes can keep an eye on me.” 

The older wizard tugged on a lock of Harry’s messy hair and smiled fondly. “Good. Get well soon. It wouldn’t do to be sick for Christmas.” 

Harry frowned. This was true. It would be his first real Christmas in years, and he wanted things to be as close to perfect as possible for both himself and to show Albus how grateful he was for everything the professor had done for him since dropping into his life. There was a desire in him to make Albus happy, and he would do what he could to make that desire a reality. 

The Medi-witch arrived just after breakfast with what seemed to be a case full of potions and lectured him the whole time she was there. The fact that his body had been failing him when he first came under her care had stuck with her, and it seemed she was determined to make him hale and healthy by sheer willpower alone if necessary. Harry was rather relieved when Madam Basset left, having grown rather more tired by the sheer energy of her irritation and worry. 

Harry sniffled a bit, but his cough was mostly gone and his breathing had eased with the potions. Fawkes crooned softly and sent him off to a healing sleep. 

The next few days Harry took the time off from teaching to complete his project when he was alert enough to work on it. The rest he spent catching up on sleep, with Fawkes keeping him company during the day while Albus lay beside him at night. At last able to sleep the night through once again, his cold and the dark circles under his eyes disappeared. 

When Harry began assistant teaching again, he was almost cheerful that morning, which was something of a change. He had always been helpful and kind, but cheerful simply wasn’t a word that was often associated with him. The large stack of parchment waiting his corrections gave him some pause, but he didn’t have time at the moment to give them much thought. His first class after lunch was about to start and he was going to have to run to dump all of the essays in his office. 

“Ha – hey Rubeus,” Harry said with relief upon nearly running into the familiar figure. “Are you busy?” 

“Not at all, Harry,” the half-giant replied cheerfully. 

“Would you do me a favor? Could you drop this stack off in my office? I’m running bit late, and I’d really appreciate it.” 

“‘Course,” his student said, easily relieving Harry of his burden. “It’s no problem.” 

“Thanks.” Harry summoned his Patronus, a little startled once again as he’d been expecting Prongs instead of a phoenix. He hadn’t gotten used to the change yet. “He’ll have the password to get you in,” he said, leaning in close to the glowing silver figure to whisper, “I open at the close. 

“And ten points to Gryffindor,” he added as Rubeus trotted off. 

Harry rarely used his office, and he didn’t keep anything valuable in it. Most of his grading took place either in Galatea’s office or in his sitting room, and his free time was usually spent in the Room of Requirement, the staff room, or with Albus. As such it was only sparsely decorated with a few cheap knick-knacks and a tapestry one of the elves had found in a store room that depicted the building of Hogwarts castle. 

This was part of the reason why he was instantly on his guard when a Hufflepuff student interrupted his lesson by bursting into the room, huffing and gasping, “Headmaster sent…serious…your office…looked…dead!” 

The last word had him bursting into motion, barely hearing Galatea’s urging to, “ _Go_.” His mind raced faster than his body, wondering, questioning. _Dead? Dead, or looked dead? Who looked dead? Were they dead? Why did the Headmaster send for him? Because it was his office? Or because Albus – no. Impossible. What did this? Who?_

It seemed like an eternity before he caught sight of a group of people outside his office door. Albus, he was relieved beyond reason to see, looked fine. Extremely worried, but fine. Headmaster Dippet stood behind the kneeling wizard, while Madam Basset flicked her wand rapidly at a large figure lying prone on the ground. 

Harry’s heart stopped. It was Hagrid. _Nononono._ He had _promised_ that Hagrid would have a far better life this time around. That he would have all of the options his Hagrid had never had a chance to explore. 

“What happened?” he asked, hardly recognizing his own voice. 

“He’s alive,” Cordelia said briskly. “He was hit by several darts poisoned with Deathly Night Terror. If he weren’t half-giant, he would be dead.” 

Harry’s mind connected the dots quickly as he always did in battle situations. A trap. Meant for him. He had disabled similar traps since the school year had begun, although none so deadly. Triggered by Harry’s own magical signature, his Patronus. And an innocent had gotten caught in the crossfire. _Hagrid_ had nearly been killed. 

Sheer fury rushed through Harry, and his magical aura crackled, the very air growing thick and heavy. It was one thing for injury to be aimed at him. He was used to it, simply foiled the traps, gave the instigators detention, and moved on. It was quite another when someone else nearly _died_ because of it. Deathly Night Terror caused a person to relive their worst memories again and again until it killed them, or an antidote was given. A quick check of the magical signatures in the area and on the darts confirmed his suspicions. Nott. Parkinson. Sewell. The three most avid supporters of Tom Riddle and some of the Darkest students in the school. 

Albus found his eyes growing heavy, and suppressed a shiver of pleasure and a growing physical reaction. The thick, static blanket of Harry’s magical aura was quite simply a heady feeling, and he struggled to focus on what was happening. Now was not the time to get caught up in such feelings. This was the first time he had been so literally attracted to power, although he suspected (hoped) it was solely because it was Harry. 

Certainly, he thought with some amusement, he was the only one to feel pleasure at Harry’s almost physically present magic. Cordelia and Armando had both gone rather pale, and the latter was doing his best not to cringe away from the young assistant. The pressure only lifted when Harry wheeled around and stalked away from the scene, almost running in his haste. It took all of them a moment to recover. 

“Is there anything I can do to assist in Mr. Hagrid’s recovery?” Albus asked. 

Cordelia shook her head. “He’s going to need to be transferred to St. Mungo’s immediately. I’ve done all I can to stabilize him, but I don’t have the skills to cure him.” 

“In that case, perhaps I ought to…” The Deputy Headmaster trailed off and gestured in the direction Harry had gone. 

“Yes. That would be best,” Armando agreed with no little relief. “You should probably catch up with him before he does something regrettable. I will summon the Aurors.” 

Meanwhile, Harry had reached the entrance to the Slytherin dorms. “Open,” he hissed without pausing to remember the password, green eyes nearly glowing in fury, and stormed into the common room. “Nott, Parkinson, and Sewell. Where are they?” he demanded as the Slytherin students present froze and grew pale with fright. 

“Th-they’re not here,” a young boy stuttered. 

Harry rounded on the statues and portraits of serpents and hissed in Parseltongue, “ _Nott, Parkinson, and Sewell nearly killed a fellow student. Where are they?!_ ” 

He ignored the expressions of shock as the serpents conferred. Rumors of his ability to speak to snakes had only persisted for a week or two before dying out, as he had given no indications that it was true. He didn’t care whether people knew or not. He didn’t care that he had just given confirmation. All that mattered in his haze of anger was finding the three perpetrators before they could escape. 

“ _They head for the main stairs and up and up_ ,” the snakes replied. 

Harry spun and sprinted from the room, taking the stairs two at a time. He pushed past the burn of his muscles, struggled to keep his breathing deep and even. Four floors above the Entrance Hall he saw them. The pounding of his footsteps must have alerted them to his approach, as Parkinson turned to look behind him. Even two floors away Harry saw how his eyes widened in surprise and fear as he nudged his two companions. 

Perhaps it was Harry’s expression, or perhaps they could feel the crackling of his magic, but whatever it was, the battle-weary wizard noticed the moment the three students panicked, no doubt recalling Riddle’s fate. The first volley of spells flew wide in their haste, and Harry was able to make it to the top of the fifth flight of stairs before being pinned down by spellfire. He might have had the advantage of skill and experience, but they had the numbers and higher ground. Too many of Harry’s spells hit the railing or flew wide overhead, and he found himself on the defensive as dust and shards of stone billowed into the air. A banished chunk of stone clipped Nott’s temple and knocked him out, but his two companions barely faltered. 

They were at an impasse. It cost Harry very little to shield himself, but only so long as he remained where he was. The students had to keep casting if they wanted to keep Harry at bay, but at the same time they couldn’t escape. 

It was about this time that Albus arrived on the scene. He had followed Harry’s path using the portraits when he heard the spellfire and cautiously made his way to the battle. More than a little surprised to find Harry defending himself from several students, he didn’t let it distract him from searching for a way to help. Thinking quickly, Albus animated two suits of armor that stood at attention one floor below Harry and out of the assistant professor’s sight. With a metallic rattle, Albus levitated them up to the sixth floor where the Slytherins were located. 

Harry took advantage of the distraction immediately, and charged up the last flight of stairs. Albus’ heart caught in his throat when, to avoid several of Dark curses, the younger professor leapt onto the balustrade. He had visions of Harry slipping and falling all the way to the ground floor, but the veteran almost immediately hopped back onto the staircases, narrowly avoiding a twisted ankle. Between the animated suits of armor and the powerful wizard, the remaining two Slytherins were quickly put down. 

“I take it these three were behind the attack,” Albus said quietly as he reached the small group. 

Harry simply stood panting for a moment before replying. “They’ve been trying to catch me with increasingly vicious pranks. I recognized their magical signatures outside of my office.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Albus demanded. “The Headmaster and I could have put a stop to it!”

“I was fine,” Harry said. “Up until now, nothing had been lethal, and I always ensured they were punished. It seems they were some of Tom Riddle’s more loyal supporters, and they were angry that I was the one to expose him. I guess every time I caught and punished them, it just made them angrier and more reckless. Had I imagined another student would get caught in the crossfire I would have done something. Told the Headmaster, pushed for expulsion, maybe,” he murmured guiltily. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.” 

“You ought to have told me, Harry,” Albus said quietly. “But I suppose I can understand why you did not.” 

“How is Hagrid?” Harry asked, turning to look at his companion. 

“He was transferred to St. Mungo’s, but Madam Basset said that he should eventually make a full recovery.” 

“Good,” Harry said. “That’s – that’s very good.” His voice broke a little in his relief. If his actions had brought about Hagrid’s death… It didn’t bare thinking about. The guilt would choke him. 

“Armando summoned the Aurors,” Albus informed him. “Let’s bring these three with us. If nothing else, they could be charged for assaulting a professor.” 

They made a rather odd procession with three Slytherin students floating between them, stunned and bound. It was lucky classes were still in session as they headed for the Headmaster’s office. The ghosts and portraits might gossip, but at least none of the student’s would have a firsthand account. 

 

“What do you mean,” Harry said, his voice dangerously low, “that they weren’t convicted.” 

He, Albus, and Armando were gathered in the Headmaster’s office meeting with the Auror in charge of the assault and attempted murder case. 

“I believe I made it quite clear, Professor,” Auror Dunston said witheringly. “While assaulting a staff member is grounds for expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the families of the accused agreed to pay the fines rather than allow their children to be thrown into jail on such minor charges.” 

“Bribes, you mean,” Harry snapped, too angry to censor himself. 

Auror Dunston drew himself up. “Professor _Harry_ ,” he sneered, “keep in mind that you are speaking to – ” 

“And I notice that you make no mention of the attempted murder of a fellow student,” Harry interrupted, not in the mood to listen to the self-important fool lecture him. 

“While it was agreed that the results of the prank were regrettable and the prank itself extreme, there is no evidence to say that the students planned a murder. Things quite simply got out of hand, but no permanent damage was done.” 

Harry’s jaw dropped, far too astonished to notice how Albus clenched his teeth in anger. 

“You…you self-important, prejudiced – ” 

A log exploded in the fireplace before he could rein his magic in. 

“And if the victim was a _pureblood_ , or had actually _died_ , would that still be your answer?!” Harry bellowed, leaping to his feet, fists clenched. For a moment he seriously considered just punching the prejudiced arsehole, but Albus’ gentle restraining hand on his arm allowed his common sense to return. 

“Harry,” Albus murmured warningly, and he saw that Headmaster Dippet was glaring at him reproachfully. 

Harry was essentially helpless here. He didn’t have the power or support he had had in his own time. He couldn’t take the chances he once had, because his position here was so precarious. He couldn’t be exposed. 

So for once he sat down, held his tongue, and simply watched the rest of the meeting with a stony silence. 

This insular prejudice had to end, or a new Dark Lord would once again find fertile ground in which to rise to power. Harry might not have the influence, but once the war was over he would do what he could. And perhaps Albus, who would have the influence and who shared similar views, would be willing to do more this time around. Because like hell Harry would spend the rest of his life in a society that had encouraged Voldemort’s reign through actions and unfair practices, if not through words. 

Later that night, curled up before the fire as rain pounded against the window, Harry checked the tracking charms he had tagged each of the three Slytherins with. “They’re heading east,” he said aloud. 

Albus looked up from his grading, startled. 

“They’re heading for Germany,” Harry said, holding that gaze with his own. 

Albus’ expression grew pained, and he returned his attention to the parchment before him without speaking a word.

As soon as the three former Slytherins crossed the German border Harry allowed his tracking charms to fade away. There was nothing else he needed to know. There was no need to take risks with being identified or watched this early. He would follow Albus’ lead, whenever he chose to confront his once friend. 

 

Christmas day dawned with a scene from a postcard. Sunlight glittered off of a blanket of fresh, clean snow, too early to be disturbed by the students who remained in the castle for the holidays. Harry smiled, for the first time in a long time allowing himself the simple anticipation of happy surprises and presents from those who cared for him. 

Albus entered with the hot chocolate, signaling to Harry that he should divvy up the presents. 

From his colleagues Harry received gifts similar to those he had given: gift certificates from various stores in Hogsmeade, candy, fancy quills. 

He was far more interested in what Albus had gotten him, and smiled a little as he ripped open the wrapping paper. Nestled in an unadorned box he found a sheathed dagger. Eyes widening in surprise and delight, he drew the blade slowly, examining with approval the simple design and perfect balance. 

“Thank you, Albus,” he said softly, meeting the twinkling eyes. 

“You’re very welcome, Harry,” the other wizard replied. “And I must say, this robe is quite magnificent.” He held up one of Harry’s gifts to him, the fabric a deep scarlet color, the detailed image of a phoenix embroidered on the back with heavy golden thread. “Although I believe that Fawkes will become entirely too vain.” 

Harry laughed at Fawkes’ indignant trill, and watched intently as Albus opened his second gift from his roommate. Setting aside the lid of the box, the many vials contained within tinkled as the older wizard’s hands shook ever so slightly. “Are these…” he breathed reverently. 

“Memories,” Harry completed with a nod. “My memories of happier times with my friends.” 

The look in Albus’ eye, the faintest sheen of tears, the barely audible gasp. Harry knew this meant a lot to Albus, but he hadn’t realized quite how much. It was worth it. The pain of digging through his memories, every tear, every nightmare, every scream. They had been carefully edited so that the background and surroundings would not be recognizable to his friend, but it was worth it to make Albus look like that. 

“From the bottom of my heart,” Albus murmured, “thank you for this gift, and for your trust.”

“I’m glad,” Harry said simply. “I’m glad it makes you happy, that I can do this small thing for you.” 

And Albus thought of Harry’s joy, of the season of giving, and of mistletoe, and for a long moment he was tempted to lean close to the one he loved and show him what he could not tell him. Instead, he retrieved a small, wrapped box that Harry had overlooked because of its size and held it out to the younger wizard in the palm of his hand. 

“My other gift, to you,” he said. 

Harry unwrapped this one slowly, picking up on Albus’ more serious mood. Inside the small box he found a key, and gazed back at the other questioningly, not quite ready to hope. 

“It’s more symbolic, as you were added to the wards a long time ago,” Albus explained calmly. “But whenever you wish to return to the cottage, to stay or to visit, you are more than welcome. My home is your home.”

“I – ” Harry coughed and swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t tell you how…how much I appreciate this. Thank you.” 

“You are very welcome, Harry.”


	17. In Good Times and Bad

_I couldn’t move. None of us could. We looked at each other because we knew someone should go but I think we all had the same strange idea that if we stood there without moving forever and ever, we could keep our family the way it was._   
_-Rachel, The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver_

_Those old songs have a way of connecting you to something deeper than what they seem to be talking about, and that’s what’s happening for the two of us here. We’re thinking of old losses and regrets, of all the things that might have been, but never were….because just like the night hides in the day’s shadows, there’s lots of things that never go away. Things you don’t ever want to go away. Sometimes when that wind blows through the pines, you shiver, but it’s not from the cold._   
_-Charles de Lint, “In the Pines”_

 

Harry didn’t enter the Pensieve with Albus. He didn’t quite dare, and he didn’t need to. He did, however, draw the people who had become his friends and family to hover above the Pensieve, introducing Albus to them, first names only. 

“Ron was the first friend I ever had. We bonded over treats when we were 11. He was the youngest boy in his family and the sixth child of seven.

“Hermione was scarily brilliant, one of the most intelligent people I knew. She was a Muggleborn and a real stickler for rules and authority at first, but Ron and I loosened her up.” 

Harry stumbled a bit over Ginny. For no reason he could discern, he was strangely uncomfortable with telling Albus about their brief time as a couple before the mutual breakup. 

Neville he introduced with fondness and pride at the drastic change from the boy to the man. 

And Luna… “Luna was, uh, unique. She was… Well, you’ll understand. Or well, maybe not understand but…” 

Harry spoke one day at a time, bit by bit, about jealousy and loyalty, nerve and narrow-mindedness, spitfire and courage. He did not speak of how they died. He was not ready, not sure when or if he ever would be.

Albus focused those sharp blue eyes on him, examining him intently as he spoke, drinking in any and every detail he imparted. A smile lingered on his lips and his eyes twinkled as he listened to Harry. The week between Christmas and New Year’s the elder wizard seemed to be in quite a cheerful mood, and spent much time immersing himself in Harry’s recollections. It made Harry rather happy himself to see Albus so happy with his gift, and he thought this might be his best holiday so far. 

Harry felt more content than he had once imagined could be possible. Albus’ discussions, comments, and laughter (for the twins’ antics in particular) at the various interactions provided, both light-hearted and serious, had wrought in him a sort of healing sorely needed, one that he could not have managed on his own. 

And then, one night, he dreamed. 

_“Harry,” a voice – or voices – whispered._

_He opened his eyes to darkness, or brilliant whiteness. The distinction was unimportant. It was a blank slate._

_“Harry.” And the voice – voices – sighed, happiness and sorrow intertwined irrevocably._

_They stood before them. Perhaps they had been there all along, though he had no idea how he might have missed them. His friends, five of the so-called Ministry Six; the girls in front, Ron behind Hermione with one arm around her waist and the other on Ginny’s shoulder, her arm linked with Luna’s, whose other hand reached slightly behind her to link her fingers with Neville’s._

_Tears sprang into Harry’s eyes, and he took a step forward. In that moment he knew a terrible longing to be reunited with them, to be free of the world’s weight, to experience the curious lightness he had experienced only once before, in the King’s Cross Station of his mind._

_They smiled at him, sadly, but genuinely. Ron shook his head who knew him, arguably, the best. “Not yet, mate. Not for a good long while, you’d better see to that.”_

_“One last goodbye,” Neville murmured._

_“We just want you to be happy,” Hermione burst out passionately, seemingly unable to contain herself._

_“That’s all,” Ginny said. “Just for you to be happy.”_

_Luna turned slightly to look back at her companions, gaze dreamy, tone vaguely surprised. “But he is,” she said, and turned back to look at him. “Aren’t you, Harry?”_

Harry gasped and his eyes shot open. Half-remembered, fragmented words of love and goodbye floated through his thoughts as he stared blankly ahead. He turned his head to the side and for a long moment he studied the familiar features of his companion, highlighted by the moonlight that poured through the enchanted window. He calmed his mind and lay quietly. 

_Yes_ , he thought eventually. Luna had always been able to cut to the heart of the matter and give voice to the blunt truth. _Yes. I am happy._

Harry smiled and reached out a hand, gently laying it against Albus’ chest where he could feel the beating of his heart. He knew who he had to thank for his happiness. And he knew he would do all in his power to keep that heart beating. 

It was like the breaking of a fever. The worst of his night terrors were done, the vivid memories and imaginings of death and destruction reeled in. They would never be forgotten of course, but they wouldn’t consume him again. His friends, like Albus, had healed a part of himself he could not have healed alone. 

It didn’t matter, really, whether they had truly visited him or whether it was all in his head. 

 

The New Year’s staff party was about what Harry had imagined. Champagne, Firewhiskey, and punch were the three main drinks, and the food table was overflowing with various snacks and desserts. The staff room had been decorated for a couple of weeks now, with fairy lights, streamers, enchanted snow, and a small Christmas tree in a corner that now also held a Wireless quietly dispensing news of the war. Near the food tables stood a large gramophone; it had been a bit strange to hear 40’s music played continuously, but most of the Christmas songs he recognized. There wasn’t much dancing, even after enough time had elapsed for most of the attendants to become at least mildly tipsy. Hogwarts having a rather small staff to begin with, when even a few left for the holidays the result was a rather quiet get-together. 

Still, between the records, the Wireless, and the various conversations, the noise had reached a rather festive level. Harry did the rounds to be polite, thanking everyone for their small gifts, discussing Quidditch with the Flying Instructor, being reassured that Hagrid would recover in time for classes by Madam Basset, making small talk with Armando, and suffering through a long, name-dropping discourse from Slughorn until Galatea rescued him. Most of his time was divided between Galatea, Albus, and people-watching between the tree and the Wireless as he listened to war reports, and Harry preferred it that way. 

Several minutes to midnight Albus joined him in the corner, bearing a wineglass for each of them. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked politely. 

Harry smiled up at him, setting his drink down on the nearest flat surface for the moment. “I am, actually. It’s not as wild as some of the parties I attended as a student, but it’s enjoyable all the same.” 

Albus chuckled. “I’m trying to imagine you at a wild party.” 

The younger wizard attempted to look affronted and failed. “They weren’t exactly my cup of tea, but they were quite fun every once in a while.” 

The silence was filled between them with statistics of the casualties on the Continent and a recent failure to defend parts of France they had managed to reclaim not long ago. 

“Sometimes, “Albus said somberly, “I wonder if this war will ever end. Sometimes it seems like the fighting will go on forever, trading land back and forth but never truly advancing. And sometimes I think we won’t hold out long enough. That our spirit cannot hold out forever and must, eventually, break against the bombs and the destruction.” 

Harry met and held his powerful gaze and saw that it was not so much defeat that spoke, but wariness and above all guilt. 

“You may not believe this Albus, but it is not your fault. His actions are not, and never will be yours. And ultimately, it was not your responsibility to stop him. What do you think Aurors are for?” His lips quirked up in a helpless half-smile. 

Albus did not look entirely convinced, but Harry had not expected him to. The mind might accept the logic, but the heart was not so easily swayed. Harry knew this well. His friends had often despaired of ever getting him to stop blaming himself. 

“Thirty seconds to midnight!” Slughorn called, laughing as he stumbled drunkenly to the middle of the room, knocking a stool over in the process. The record player had been banished, and a second wizarding radio Harry hadn’t noticed before was now turned up so that everyone could hear the hosts begin the countdown. 

“I do wonder what surprises this new year will bring us,” Albus said lightly, tilting his head and eyeing his friend significantly, having pushed his melancholy thoughts away for the time being.

Harry shot him a smile as he reached for his wineglass, but his mind was obviously elsewhere. 

“Ten!” the wizards and witches around them roared, not quite in unison. 

“Albus,” he said, and the wizard had to lean close to hear. 

Harry bit his lip, and then looked up at him, decided. 

“Eight!” 

“This time next year the world will be celebrating peace.” 

“Two! 

“One! 

“Happy New Year!”

Albus didn’t say anything. As several of the staff members around them followed the tradition of the holiday, he found himself overwhelmed by emotion, by hope…by love. So close, his love was so close. Confronted with Harry’s earnest face, his brilliant green eyes, he leaned forward before he could stop himself, retaining barely enough sense to veer off to the side and brush his lips against Harry’s cheek rather than his lips. 

Albus blushed as he leaned back, taking in Harry’s stunned expression at a glance before lifting his glass to his mouth and swallowing his champagne with far less finesse than usual. His mind raced and he hoped his flush could be attributed to the alcohol or the heat. “Happy New Year,” he said steadily, relieved that his voice, at least, had not betrayed him. “And thank you. For the reassurance.” 

“Happy New Year,” Harry repeated, bemused. Neither Ron nor Neville would ever have dreamt of doing such a thing he knew, not even bullied by the girls, but their friendship hadn’t exactly been a touchy-feely sort. He and Albus were…different. There was more touching, more intimacy, more…something. 

The brief kiss was strange but not unpleasant. And perhaps not so out of character as he had first thought. So Harry smiled, slightly red himself, and simply accepted it as another aspect of their friendship. 

Galatea smirked, and a few others who were paying attention rolled their eyes or adopted vaguely disapproving expressions. So blind. There was no teasing mention of the incident the next morning, however. Possibly because politeness won out, but more probably because hangovers tended to be more than a little distracting. 

 

Having entered the last year of the war, Harry decided he had better get cracking on preparing for the trip. He had his past experience of living life on the run to help him figure out what needed to be done. Taking a page from Hermione’s book, he searched the library for information on Undetectable Expansion Charms and then cast it on a nondescript leather pouch he had hunted down. Food he could wait until at least April before packing, but clothes, both robes and Muggle, a tent, utensils, bandages, potions, and the like he would quietly collect over the next few months. 

He increased his training in the Room of Requirement only slightly, but he did put in the effort to look up and practice a wider variety of spells. In addition, at least two twice a week he spent time in the Forbidden Forest in his Animagus form, doing his best to teach himself how to fight, hunt, and simply become accustomed to life as a wolf, listening to the animal’s instincts, but never losing his human mind. Harry recalled how he had been unable to sustain his form while asleep and knew that the additional experience would be invaluable. 

Harry also began increasing the intensity of his tutoring sessions. He estimated that he would be missing about a month of school if his interference in the timeline hadn’t changed things too drastically. This meant he needed to make sure his students were major problem-free and at least slightly ahead before he left, as he would not be around when the N.E.W.T.s and O.W.L.s arrived.

By far the chore Harry hated most was his attempts to teach himself German. He didn’t need to be fluent, but he thought it would rather necessary to at least have an idea of what the people around him were saying. Unfortunately, because he didn’t wish to draw attention to himself, especially from Albus who was far too intelligent to tip off about his plans, it was slow going. Wit-Sharpening Potions might help him to remember vocabulary and grammar, but he _needed_ to actually hear someone speaking and possibly reply if he wanted to get even somewhat competent. 

Luckily, by the time February rolled around an idea had struck him and he had sent an owl off to Minerva. She wasn’t fluent in German, but spoke enough to get by and had agreed to help him in exchange for dueling and spell practice. There was really no downside to the deal that Harry could see; not only did he get what he wanted, but he was also helping to make sure that Minerva survived whatever battles she might become involved in. 

“You don’t mind keeping this quiet, do you?” Harry asked the first time they had met in Hogsmeade. “Only, I’d prefer not to draw attention with learning German.” 

“And what exactly are you learning the language for?” Minerva asked, but by the arch of her eyebrow Harry thought she might have had a fairly accurate idea of the answer. 

“So,” Harry said dodging the question. “Where exactly would you like to duel after we finish here?” 

“There are a few dueling arenas that are free for Aurors to use for practice. The one in London near Charing Cross should suffice.” Minerva’s expression said, _you don’t fool me, but I’ll humor you for now._ “It’s smaller and a bit more private than the others, so we shouldn’t have to put up with others encroaching on our space or conversation.” 

“Great!” Harry exclaimed. 

When he walked into the Great Hall on February 14th the cards, chocolates, flowers, and giggling girls rather shocked Harry as he had completely forgotten about Valentine’s Day. The rest of the day he had to contend with a number of both shy and giddy female students bearing cards and sometimes candy. Having very little experience with the starry-eyed attention of seemingly love-struck younger girls, his blushing, occasionally stuttering, awkwardness was a source of great amusement to his colleagues. 

It was a relief to escape with Albus to their rooms once afternoon classes were over. In an effort to keep Albus from teasing him further about his pile of cards, he said the first thing that came to mind. “You know, Ron ended up poisoned one Valentine’s Day.”

“What?” 

Harry cringed, and turned to stare absently at the bookshelf instead. “Actually, it was because of Valentine’s Day chocolates. I think it might have been at least a few weeks after the holiday.” 

“What happened?” Albus asked, stepping closer. 

“Well, there was a girl a year younger than me who dosed the chocolates she gave me with love potion.” 

Albus choked. “You didn’t eat them, did you?” 

“No,” Harry said, looking a bit concerned by the expression on the wizard’s face. “Hermione warned me. Unfortunately, as I had neglected to throw them out, Ron ended up eating them by accident weeks later. I think it was his birthday. It was actually rather funny to see his blissful expression as he obsessed over a girl I don’t think either of us had ever spoken to.” 

“Sometimes it amazes me the lengths students will go to,” the Transfiguration professor murmured. 

“I took him to the Potions Professor and got him cured. Ron’s expression when he realized what had happened was hilarious. And then the celebratory mead we drank – he took the first and only sip – was poisoned. Lucky I knew where the bezoar in the professor’s office was kept, as he wasn’t very quick on his feet.” 

Albus let the silence lengthen between them before attempting to lift the gloom a bit. “I suppose all’s well that ends well.” 

Harry flashed a grin at him and relaxed his shoulders a bit. There had been no lasting side effects from that episode and things had indeed ended rather well. 

“I do have one question, however,” Albus said, a calculating gleam in his eyes as he moved unnoticed until he was almost directly behind Harry. 

“Hmm?” 

“I thought,” his companion said slowly, “that you were part of a tutoring group in magic.” 

There was a long moment in which Harry had no idea what he was talking about. When it struck him, he tensed and spun around, only to realize that Albus was far too close, crowding near to him and trapping him against the bookcase with hands that gripped the shelf on either side of his head. 

“Th-that’s…that’s what I meant,” Harry stuttered nervously. “My tutor, um, Mrs. Figg, you know, when she taught certain subjects we would call her professor of – ”

“Don’t lie to me Harry,” Albus said, the teasing, almost smug, expression on his face becoming more serious. “You said you would not lie about your past.” 

Harry sighed, abruptly giving up his pretense. “Yeah,” he said, leaning his head back. “I guess you found my Ministry file then?” 

“It was intriguing, and quite a difficult search, but yes.” 

“And you must have noticed the Confundus on my name.” 

Albus nodded. 

“So you know,” Harry murmured. 

“No.” 

Startled, Harry jerked himself up from his slouch. 

“You said that you would tell me one day,” Albus explained. “And I would not break your trust. I will hear the truth from you.” 

Harry beamed at him and in an uncharacteristic movement, briefly flung his arms around him. 

“But then why did you say anything?” Harry wondered. 

“It was rather fun to see you grasping desperately for an explanation,” Albus replied, lips twitching as Harry elbowed him. “But also, I wondered if you would remember what your file said.” 

The pair was interrupted by an owl bearing a bouquet of red roses and a tasteful card addressed to Harry in familiar handwriting. Curious, Harry read the message as Albus examined the flowers. 

_Dear Harry,_

_I really hope you managed to get a good look at Professor Dumbledore’s expression when the owl arrived, because I would like to see a memory in a Pensieve next time we have a chance._

Harry glanced up at Albus, considering, but he couldn’t quite figure out what the other wizard seemed to be feeling. He turned back to the letter in confusion. 

_You still have no idea what I mean, do you? I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: you are quite obtuse._

Harry wrinkled his nose. 

_I thought it would be amusing to wish you a Happy Valentine’s Day in this manner. Not to mention my male colleagues, by seeing me do this, might refrain from certain irritating and chauvinistic comments if they believe me not to be single. Truly, I doubt this, but am as always hopelessly optimistic._

He snorted. 

_Do borrow a Pensieve for next time we meet, won’t you?_

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva_

“These flowers are quite a masterpiece of Transfiguration,” Albus said in a strained sort of voice. 

“Yeah,” Harry said absently. “Minerva is quite good at Transfiguration.” 

There was a silence thick with tension that he didn’t understand. 

“Do you know her well?” Albus asked. 

“I suppose not too well, but we are becoming good friends,” Harry replied. “We’ve been trying to set up meetings with each other.” 

Albus put the bouquet down on the table before he accidentally damaged it. 

“Minerva wanted help not just with dueling, but also tricks and things that will help her stay alive in battle situations. In the unlikely event that she is transferred to the fighting on the Continent she wants to be prepared,” Harry continued. 

Because of Minerva’s long hours they didn’t manage to meet as often as either would like. On several occasions they had needed to combine Defense practice and German lessons, which led to some rather amusing misspoken comments on Harry’s part. 

Despite infrequent meetings, Minerva’s skills had improved noticeably. Harry taught her to fight not in formal or informal dueling style, but in battle for her life. He taught her every dirty trick he could think of, encouraged her to use everything in her surroundings as a shield or a weapon (as a Transfiguration prodigy she became quite creative), and drilled into her that Stunners might drop an enemy, but broken bones or worse would keep that person down. The enemies that were revived could kill you before you knew they had returned. He taught her the weaknesses of various shields, and how even minor hexes and jinxes could be debilitating if one could only think outside the box. 

Harry gave Minerva everything he could think of to keep her alive. 

Albus seemed to relax at the clarification and the rest of their evening passed comfortably between the two of them, exchanging chocolates at some point after dinner. 

 

Things had been going well for Harry until around the middle of March. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but one afternoon right before leaving for class he suddenly realized that Fawkes had begun to look not quite himself, his plumage drooping and not quite so brilliant. Heart racing, he counted down the months. 

“Oh, Fawkes,” he breathed. His burning day would be right around the beginning of May, when it was likely Albus would set out to confront Grindelwald. 

“Fawkes, no.” As if by saying it would make it so. 

Harry had counted on the phoenix being with them, to provide Albus with extra security. Between the two of them, surely Albus was unlikely to be killed, no matter how badly Harry had skewed the timeline. The future, thought he knew where it might lead, was largely uncertain. But with Fawkes either a decrepit avian or a helplessly young chick, assurance for a quick escape or a shield for Albus against the Killing Curse was gone. 

Fawkes chirped sadly, as though he knew what Harry was thinking. 

“Yes,” Harry said quietly, “I will take care of him.” 

Fawkes trilled sharply. 

“And myself, if I can,” he said. “But you must warn me when he means to go.”


	18. Beautiful Nightmare

_The play is done_   
_The curtain’s down_   
  
_Where are the wolves, the underwater moon_   
_The elvenpath, the haven of youth_   
_Lagoons of the starlit sea_   
  
_Have I felt enough for one man’s deed?_   
_Or is it time to challenge the Ancient of Days_

**_\- Nightwish, “Dead Gardens”_ **

  

_Here we stand_  
 _Somewhere in between this moment and the end_  
 _Will we bend_  
 _Or will we open up and take this whole thing in  
_ **_-Rob Thomas, “Mockingbird”_ **

 

 

Not long after realizing that Fawkes would be unavailable to accompany Albus and himself to Germany, Harry almost manically checked and double-checked his mental list of necessary supplies. He was sure Albus was as prepared as he could be, being both intelligent and strategic, but Harry was also fairly sure that he was the only one of the two to have ever been forced to experience life on the run. Never mind the fact that Albus did not yet know that he would not be setting off alone.

True, he did not know exactly how the older wizard planned to find or confront Grindelwald, and Harry did not know exactly how this sort of warfare worked, but he refused to betray Albus’ trust by rifling through sensitive, confidential documents, quite apart from his fear of bringing the wrong attention down upon him. He had no idea whether or not Albus planned to blend into the crowds of the cities or camp through the countryside, but he thought that his skills at survival and guerrilla techniques would be useful regardless. As the one of the couple with experience, Harry felt more than a little responsible for Albus’ safety.

For several days now, Harry had been searching for a healing potion or potions that could be used as an inferior-but-better-than-nothing substitute for phoenix tears. Those who were familiar with phoenixes knew that their tears, while extremely potent when first shed, lost that potency over time if kept or stored. The degradation was based on two factors: the amount of time since the tears had been shed, and the amount of distance from the phoenix that shed them. And as Harry was certain that Albus’ mission would be both time-consuming and take them to Germany, far from Fawkes, he could not depend on a vial of his tears.

“I’m heading to Etansmere,” Harry informed Albus one weekend from the doorway of the Transfiguration office. Etansmere was a tiny, all-magical town that Harry suspected had ceased to exist for one reason or another sometime before his introduction to the Wizarding World. “There are a few shops I want to check out.” Specifically, the specialty potions supply/apothecary.

“Be careful,” Albus said, looking up from his grading, a faint crease between his brows.

Harry smiled and turned to go, planning to take his leave from Hogsmeade. “I will.”

He mused on his situation during the familiar walk into town, shivering a bit and burrowing into his jacket when a chilly gust of wind blew by. Here he was in the past, in the UK during World War II, and he had seen so little of it. So little of the struggling people and the bombed out cities. He had stuck mainly to Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, and Albus’ cottage when there was so much to see, to experience. It would be sad and undoubtedly horrifying, but…this was history. His history. And – this was his saving-people thing kicking in – so many who needed help.

Perhaps he would take a look around London before heading to Etansmere. It was still light out; there was plenty of time to take a quick look around before night – and the bombs – fell.

  
 

 

When Harry did finally arrive in Etansmere, it was to find himself surveying the tail-end of a battle.

_Invasion_ , he thought. It hadn’t occurred to him that the small town could be considered a strategic point by Grindelwald’s forces, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. As one of the few all-magical towns left in Britain, it would be devastating to lose it.

Not only that, it would have numerous ties to important political figures and aristocracy/pureblood families in the Wizarding world. Few would live there, preferring a more isolated location with the acreage befitting a stately manor home, but a combination of constituents, patronage, and even vacation homes would prove to be quite a blow to Wizarding Britain’s morale, if not the economy.

Never mind how difficult it would be to uproot enemy forces once they had found a foothold, a base in enemy territory.

Luckily, the battle appeared as though it were being won by the British Aurors and allies. Actually, having missed the height of the fighting, Harry found that his luck had been unusually good in this instance. It was a bit unheard of for him to appear when the battle was practically over.

If it didn’t erupt around him, he generally found himself right in the middle of the chaos.

The apothecary caught his eye, and he sprinted toward it. It was the most dangerous area, at the moment, considering the numerous extremely flammable materials and potentially toxic fumes. They would probably need the most defending that particular area.

And if he so happened to find the potions he was looking for, well, that had been the whole point of this trip.

 

 

 

Minerva’s eye caught on an airborne chunk of debris – part of a roof, perhaps, or a corner of a shop – and she let her shield drop the instant her opponent’s curse ricocheted off at an angle that caused a nearby invader to duck. She flicked her wand the instant the object was above “Pox” – so dubbed for the myriad small, circular scars on his exposed skin – and a snarling leopard dropped onto his startled head. Unfortunately, he had managed to get off one last deadly-looking curse, and Minerva wasn’t in a very good position to defend herself.

Her heart skipped a beat, mind cataloging just how painful her death would be as she twisted, throwing herself back and to the side. Rolling clumsily out of the way and back onto her feet, she closed her eyes briefly as she overpowered a “lumos”.

_“Move your feet!”_ Harry had shouted in many of their training sessions. _“They aren’t nailed to the ground. Shields won’t stop everything, maybe not even most of the spells you’ll come up against, but that doesn’t matter if you can dodge. It’s a hell of a lot harder to hit a moving target. So move! This isn’t a formal duel, for Merlin’s sake.”_

The move, off balance as she had been, was ugly and awkward, and closing her eyes had probably been a bad idea. It wasn’t even very dark out, so it would be more difficult to blind the enemy with bright lights. Still, her dive, at least, had worked. Minerva was alive and alert, and her Transfigured leopard had managed to break “Pox’s” neck.

Of course, another enemy soldier had replaced him from the mass of wizards and witches battling in the streets. “Teeth” she decided his nickname would be, noting how large and unnaturally white they were, and knowing that if she didn’t finish this one off quickly she’d be outnumbered again. The young Auror just barely managing to summon a stray cobblestone as a defense against a spell more commonly used to cauterize wounds, and took a deep breath as she retaliated.

There was a certain...almost formulaic quality to the moves of the enemy soldiers she faced. Minerva felt so far beyond stressed she had come right around to cool and calm, and she had to remind herself not to fall into the trap of overconfidence or complacency at their moves. She was more used to Harry’s unusual creativity and off-the-wall thinking.

_“Use everything, anything at your disposal. Know your surroundings and use them. Remember that even the simplest of spells have their uses in battle. It’s a matter of timing and creativity, and it’ll really throw off a lot of your opponents. A stream of ink or paint, for example, aimed at your opponents eyes.”_

However, luck, power, and experience would still do a lot of damage, and she had the chest pains to prove it. The enemy might underestimate Minerva, but she couldn’t afford to underestimate them if she wanted to survive.

Several rocks in her area once again became a small menagerie of predators, and one broken statue nearby stood up and bounded forward, giving the injured witch a moment to breathe and take in her surroundings. Minerva barely had time to notice that the invaders were on the verge of retreating – was that familiar figure down the road Professor Dumbledore? – when shattering glass and a deafening roar signaled an explosion.

Startled, she pressed herself against the stone wall of the shop at her back. Her opponent had, fortunately, likewise been distracted, although she fell quickly into a crouch to dodge a curse sent from a witch in the opposite direction. A jab of her wand, and quicksand tripped the witch that rushed her. Thick, sharp briars entwined “Teeth” just as he managed to behead her last Transfigured viper, and he screamed in pain, toppling to the ground with his punctured arms trapped to his sides.

Ignoring him for the moment, she blocked the hex the recovered witch sent at her, and chained a series of spells, slipping a banished dagger in at the end. The other witch had only a little trouble shielding or countering Minerva’s spells, but the physical weapon took her by surprise, finding its home in her chest. Minerva brushed aside the pang of regret to be dealt with later, and quickly knocked “Teeth” unconscious.

She cautiously evaluated her surroundings; apparently a retreat had been called by the invaders, as those left were Aurors, townspeople, or too injured to be moved.

_“Don’t let your guard down in enemy territory,”_ Harry had stressed, time and again.

She made her way carefully down the street, wand at the ready as she looked for a superior to report to. The burnt out shell of the apothecary caught her eye, flames still shooting outward as what few flammable materials left ignited. She remembered seeing a few wizards dousing the building and guarding the exterior earlier, attempting to keep it from exploding. It seemed they had done a fairly good job of it, if it had only just exploded.

She bit her lip at the bodies that littered the ground.

“Minerva!” a familiar voice called out, and she turned, rather alarmed to see Professor Dumbledore almost running in her direction.

“Yes?” she replied a bit breathlessly, a hand moving to her ribs. Now that the adrenaline was subsiding, her various injuries had begun to throb.

“Have you seen Harry?”

“Harry?” she repeated blankly.

“He was meant to be here. He said he was going to…he said he would be here,” Albus said with an uncharacteristic stutter.

Minerva frowned, struggling to think. “I don’t remember seeing him. And his style of fighting ought to have stood out,” she murmured.

The apothecary ruins caught her eye once again, sparking a faint memory. “Wait,” she said suddenly. “Wait. I think… I’m not sure if it was actually him, I hadn’t even considered he might be here, but I think…” She trailed off, unable to keep the look of horror from her face as she stared squarely at the scatter of bodies around the apothecary.

Albus paled, and almost stumbled as his knees buckled. “No,” he whispered, barely able to hear himself over the rushing of his pulse in his ears. He’d thought his heart had stopped when he’d been alerted to the battle in Etansmere, but now… His thoughts were a jumble, _Harry_ and _dead_ and _no_ and _warGellerthisfaultmyfaultstophavetostopHaveToStopIt_.

His resolve hardened. No more. Gellert had gone too far. Albus had been a coward for far too long, but it was past time for Gellert to be stopped, and he _would_ be the one to end it. Soon, if not immediately.

“Albus! Minerva!”

The pair spun around immediately, almost unable to believe it.

“Harry!” Minerva exclaimed, while Albus could only sag in relief.

“Thank Merlin!” the younger witch exclaimed, throwing herself at the figure that had jogged over to them.

“You’re alive,” Albus whispered.

Harry understood immediately, returning Minerva’s embrace after only the smallest flinch, and then pulling Albus into a hug.

The taller man gripped him desperately, eyes squeezed shut, the younger wizard’s head tucked under his chin. “You’re alive.”

“Can’t get rid of me.” Harry’s reply was muffled by Albus’ robed chest, and for the first time in years, no bitterness crept into the phrase.

At long last, Albus pulled back, gaze intent as he studied his companion.

Harry gazed back, and noticed there was something different about Albus, hidden in his stance or behind his eyes. There was a new sort of resolve about him. Regarding what, he did not yet know.

  
 

 

A few weeks later Harry was practically assaulted by the sound of Fawkes’ loud cry the moment he entered their rooms. He jerked slightly in surprise, almost missing a step, before closing the door behind him and hurrying over to the phoenix’s perch. “What is it?” he queried, alarmed and wondering where Albus was.

Fawkes, looking particularly haggard as his burning day drew closer, attempted to flap his wings, shedding a few feathers in the process. The young wizard quickly presented an arm for the bird to settle on, and then followed Fawkes’ gaze, bringing the two of them to his bedroom. He hesitantly opened his closet, all the while wondering what the phoenix was attempting to tell him. 

His heart skipped a beat when Fawkes hopped down to the floor and pecked at his travel bag. “Now?” he breathed. “He’s gone now?”

Fawkes screeched a negative, but looked at him expectantly.

“Tonight?”

Fawkes bobbed his head in agreement, and Harry’s gaze hardened in determination.

“Thank you, Fawkes. I’ll be with your companion and protect him as best as I can.” He grinned a little wryly. “Whether he likes it or not.” 

The warm, feathered head nuzzled his hand, dark eyes watching him sadly.

“I wish you could come too,” he whispered, running his fingers along the fragile neck. He carefully picked up the wizened phoenix and placed him back on his perch, his mind sorting through everything that needed to be done. First, the kitchens, to pick up the more perishable food supplies.

By the time night fell, Harry was wishing for rest. It had taken a greater toll on him than he thought, to act as though nothing was wrong or changed, while completing his last minute preparations. He knew better than to give Albus any warning of his plans; the older wizard would object strenuously, and who knew what he might manage to delay or stop Harry, if given sufficient time for planning and implementation. The man was a genius, after all. Although, given Albus’ unusual state of distraction, Harry suspected he had some leeway for mistakes.

“Harry?” Albus had said not long before dinner, as the two sat before the fireplace in their rooms.

Harry had been at the table, bent over the last of his progress reports describing what had been covered during his tutoring. He felt a little guilty at leaving Galatea and his students so suddenly, only a month or so until the final tests.

“Hmm?” he murmured hazily, looking up at his companion on the couch and blinking away the afterimages of the scrawl of words on parchment.

The flickering firelight caught in Albus’ eyes as Harry watched, abruptly ensnaring him as the bright blue seemed to glow and gain depth. Something – something important – niggled at Harry’s mind. He watched, captivated, as Albus drew breath to speak. There was something he should know, something he _did_ know, subconsciously, but he could not draw it out. Albus would help, as he always did. Albus could give him clarity.

“I – ” the older wizard began, and then stopped. “I…” He laughed, then, a soft huff of breath without mirth. “Even now,” he murmured too quietly for Harry to catch, and berated himself for a coward in his mind.

“Albus?” Harry asked, torn between curiosity and concern.

The Transfiguration Professor shook his head. “I am glad,” he said at last, quietly, sincerely, “to have you in my life. I can think of no one else who means as much to me.”

Harry’s expression softened, and he smiled in return. So that was to be Albus’ good bye to him. _It’s not so easy to leave me behind_ , Harry thought, and for once his mind did not turn to the friends who had not hesitated to sacrifice themselves, so that at last he was the only one left of them. 

“I feel much the same,” Harry replied, and for a long moment their gazes were bound, blue and green.

Then the dark-haired wizard bent once more over his parchment, and Albus returned to his book.

Curfew was near and the halls were deserted when he entered Galatea’s office. This was his last errand, and then all that would be left to do was wait for Albus to leave.

Harry leaned back against the door for a moment in the darkened room, taking in the heavy wooden desk and sturdy bookshelves, the DADA artifacts, pile of homework assignments and overflow of texts. Then he crossed the room to lay an envelope in an empty space near the center of Galatea’s desk.

The letter gave his apologies for leaving so suddenly and without warning, a vague explanation for his actions, and his thanks for the chance to teach and for her friendship. _If all goes well, and if you and Headmaster Dippet will still have me, I would be most grateful and happy to once again assist in teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts in the new term._

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice sounded as he exited the office and closed the door.

“You’re off, then?”

He whirled to face Galatea Merryweather, leaning against the stone wall across from the door and watching him with a raised brow.

“Wh-what?” he stuttered.

She snorted. “I’m no idiot, Harry. I’ve noticed the way you’ve shifted your workload and deadlines.”

Harry quite obviously did not know how to reply. His gaze darted from the witch to the hallway, as though searching for an escape.

“Does Albus know?”

The twitch of Harry’s features gave him away before his reply. “Not yet.”

Galatea huffed a laugh. To be a fly on the wall for _that_ conversation. “Come here, kid,” she sighed, and reached out to ruffle his hair when he obeyed. Her eyes narrowed, her hand holding his head in place as she met his gaze. “You take care of yourself,” she said seriously. 

There was a pause as Harry eyed her.

“I will,” he said.

“Better than you’ve been doing, I hope,” was her final comment as her hand slid from his head, and the older woman turned and walked away.

  
 

 

 

Albus crept quietly out of his bedroom, a travel bag resting on his back as he maneuvered easily through the darkened sitting room.

“Good bye, my friend,” he murmured quietly to Fawkes, brushing a finger along the phoenix’s back.

Fawkes trilled sleepily, and nudged his hand in farewell.

The wizard turned to look at Harry’s closed bedroom door. He hadn’t joined the younger man that night, didn’t even dare to peek in now for fear of waking him, for fear of what might be said, of perhaps having to lie, of a possible confrontation. Albus had said his goodbyes, although Harry wouldn’t have known it. That would have to be enough.

He was sorry for what Harry might go through when he realized Albus had disappeared.

It was the middle of the night; this late, with nothing stirring, it seemed as though the whole castle was empty. The click of the closing door as he backed into the stone hall and eased it shut seemed unnaturally loud.

With a sigh, Albus turned to go and stopped short. Harry leaned against the wall opposite, wearing a travelling cloak, a small, sturdy bag attached to his belt. In an instant, he knew why.

“No.”

“Yes,” Harry replied, his body language unwavering in the face of Albus’ disapproval verging on anger.

“You are _not_ coming with me,” Albus hissed. Harry was not following him into war. It was far too dangerous, and Harry had suffered more than enough.

“I’m going.”

“You aren’t authorized,” he said, struggling for words as his throat tightened in panic and fury at the younger wizard’s inability to _stay safe_. “You don’t have the clearance, and not only will I be handling sensitive information, I will be going into areas that you do not have the training for.” 

“You seem very sure of that,” Harry observed, knowing that his calm, blunt demeanor was infuriating his companion. “And so far, you’re doing a very good job of convincing me _not_ to let you go haring off without me.”

“Harry, for _once_ – ” Albus caught himself raising his voice and stopped, breathing deeply. “This is my mission. You are not allowed to become part of it. There are laws and regulations that must be followed, particularly in something as delicate and dangerous as this.” His fingers twitched slightly, mind turning to his wand hidden in its holster. It would be akin to a betrayal, but if he was quick enough at least Harry would be safe.

“Don’t even think about it,” Harry said as if reading his mind, eyes narrowed as he straightened.

Albus raised an eyebrow, watching his roommate.

“I’m not confidant enough to say I’d beat you in a duel. Maybe you’d win, or maybe I would. But it wouldn’t be fast, and it wouldn’t be quiet, and both of us would end up seriously injured in the Hospital Wing for quite some time. Because the force it would take to completely subdue me would have to be violent, and I cannot go down without a fight. Not even if I wanted to, I think.”

Albus winced, and the hard green gaze softened slightly as Harry stepped closer. “Harry,” he said weakly.

“Even if you recovered before I did, or tried to sneak away while I’m not around, there would be nothing to prevent me from following you. Except, I have no idea where you’re going, so I would be blundering into Germany completely alone, without allies or contacts.” Harry pressed his point almost brutally, but he would not be left behind. It was his turn, his decision to be the one who fought at another’s side, who sacrificed so that another might live in his stead. He was not the hero here, and there was a guilty edge to his relief. Because that role was hard and painful, and he would not wish it upon Albus. But at least now, he could do for Albus what his friends had done for him. Support him, prop him up, encourage him, defend him, and die for him if necessary. Albus was worth it. He was…everything.

“And, I don’t speak German.” Not fluently. “So it’s your choice whether you fight to keep me here and waste days, possibly weeks, as we both recover, or leave now, with me. But I’m not staying behind.”

“And if you’re a liability? What then?” Albus snapped, hands clenched into fists in sheer frustration as he desperately searched for an argument to convince Harry to stay. Even words he knew were lies.

“I’m not,” was all he said.

Silence, then, as Albus ground his teeth and Harry lifted his stubborn chin.

“Fine,” the Transfiguration Master said sourly. “Let’s be off quickly, then.”

And Albus hated himself a little for the relief he felt that he would not be alone. He would prefer Harry safe, but he would always desire the younger wizard to be at his side.


End file.
